


Firebrand

by imaginary_golux



Series: Through the Flames We Grow Stronger [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AU after book 6, Aftermath of Torture, BAMF Neville Longbottom, Gen, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Not Canon Compliant - Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, not as dark as it sounds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-10
Updated: 2015-09-05
Packaged: 2018-04-14 00:34:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 27
Words: 30,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4543380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imaginary_golux/pseuds/imaginary_golux
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A real oath of fealty binds the lord as strongly as it does the vassal. Harry is about to learn exactly what that means.</p><p>Beta by my wonderful Best Beloved, Turn_of_the_Sonic_Screw.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“Swear to me,” Voldemort says. The man on his knees before the dark throne grasps the hem of the Dark Lord’s robes and raises it to his forehead.

“I promise on my power that I shall from this day forth be faithful to Lord Voldemort; against every creature, living and dead, I shall defend him by wand and will; and I shall shun all that he shuns, and never, by will or by force, by word nor by work, do aught that is against his orders and desires,” the kneeling man recites.

“I accept your oath,” Voldemort hisses, and reaches down to press his fingers against the bare skin of the man’s forearm. The man swallows a scream as the Dark Mark etches itself into his arm.

*

Harry sits up, drenched in sweat, panting in the aftermath of his vision. _Merlin_ , but he will never get used to that! It’s good to know that Tom has acquired another follower, certainly, even if Harry didn’t recognize the man, but the feel of the magic in the vision was so _wrong_ , so twisted and almost incomplete…

Harry blinks into the darkness. _Incomplete_. Yes. The oath the new Death Eater swore _sounded_ wrong, like it didn’t have all its parts; and Tom’s response seemed…lacking somehow. Like there was supposed to be more to it, something that would bring the humming magic of the oath back full circle somehow.

Well, he isn’t going to get back to sleep tonight. Harry rolls out of bed and shrugs into an overrobe, then cracks the door to his room open and scans the hallway. Empty: good. He sneaks out of his room and down the stairs, carefully skirting the draped portrait of Mrs. Black, and wanders through the kitchen and down the hall, glancing into the empty bedrooms with their sheet-shrouded, ghostly furniture. Eventually, at the end of the hall, he slips into the library, and glances around, then thinks, _Well, why not?_

The lights on the shelves flicker on as Harry approaches – a useful charm, and one which means he doesn’t have to risk either a candle or underage magic. He’s not quite sure what he’s looking for, but after a few minutes’ search he pulls a thick tome with the words _Oaths and Vows_ embossed into the leather cover off the shelf, and retreats to a couch.

_Oaths and Vows_ leads him to _A Lord’s Duties_ leads him, in the small hours of the morning, to a dusty ancient book, handwritten in a half-legible hand, entitled _Ye Oathes of Fealtie_.

And there he finds what he’s been looking for.

*

Hermione hunts him down in the morning, finding him bent over a desk, hair covered in dust, scribbling notes onto a spare bit of parchment. “Breakfast, Harry,” she says, and 

Harry blinks at her for a minute through slightly bleary eyes, then nods and stands, slipping _Oathes_ and his notes into a pocket of his robe.

“Let me just go get changed, ‘Mione,” he says, and scampers up the steps.

After breakfast he lays his notes out on the table, thanking Kreacher absently, and taps them with a finger. Hermione gives him a curious look.

“I had a vision last night,” he explains, and Ron and Hermione both perk up at that. “A new Death Eater was swearing to Tom, and I got to watch the whole ceremony. I don’t think Tom knew I was there, though. He wasn’t gloating enough for that.”

“Alright, mate, but why does one more Death Eater matter? I mean, unless we know him?”

“No, Ron, we don’t know him, I don’t think; I certainly didn’t recognize him. But when he was swearing himself to Tom, there was this…this thick magic in the air, and it got stronger the whole time he was saying his oath. And then when he was done, Tom just sort of accepted, and the magic…dissipated? Like it hadn’t finished, but it _couldn’t_ finish, so it went away.” He repeats the oath the new Death Eater used, and Tom’s response, as perfectly as he can remember them.

“So Old Voldie blue-balled magic, is that what you’re saying, mate?” Ron grins, and Hermione whaps him gently on the shoulder.

Harry grins at his friend. “Sort of, yeah. I spent the rest of the night doing research – yes, Hermione, I know how to use a library – and I found this. Look.”

Hermione bends over the passage he has pointed out and reads it aloud.

“Ye oathe bindeth in equal measure liege and sworn manne, as it draweth from the onne his true obedience…wow, Harry, this is really badly spelled…and from the othere his faithfull devoshun…devotion?...that they are bounde forevere unto onne another…can I write this out properly later?”

“Yes, you can,” Harry assures her, chuckling a little at her indignant expression.

“In true loyaltie and fidelitie unto deth,” Hermione finishes. “So…a proper oath of fealty is supposed to bind the lord to the vassal too?”

“That’s what I make of it,” Harry agrees. “I’ve copied out the three oaths it gives: one for a warrior to his lord, one for a civilian asking for protection, and one all-purpose response from the lord. Tom doesn’t give the right response at _all_ , and even the oath the new Death Eater swore isn’t quite the same as what the book says is proper.”

Hermione pulls the bit of parchment towards her and scans it, Ron reading over her shoulder. “Huh, yeah, I see what you mean,” she says at last. “This is all very…precise.”

“Yeah. So, this is where my research skills give out. Hermione, could you maybe look and see if, since the oaths the Death Eaters make _aren’t_ quite proper oaths of fealty, they can be broken? Can the Dark Mark be removed?”

“I’ll look,” Hermione promises. “It’s a very interesting question – and might be useful.” She pushes the parchment with the oaths back towards him. “Hang onto that,” she advises. “It might come in handy, one of these days.”

*

“I think,” she says, some days later, distracting Harry from the very dry, very Dark book he is reading to try and find out more about Horcruxes, “that a Dark Mark _could_ be removed – but only by having the Death Eater swear a _real_ fealty oath to someone just as strong as Tom. Or stronger, if possible.” She gives Harry a lopsided grin. “Which I suspect means _you_ , Harry, since you’re marked as his equal and all.”

“So if I want to get any Death Eaters away from Tom, I have to take them myself?” Harry asks. “That’s rubbish.”

“It is a bit,” she agrees. “On the other hand, it looks like the magical penalties for breaking a _real_ fealty oath – as opposed to the curses Tom imposes on his followers, which are entirely independent of the oath itself – are really quite nasty. So if they _did_ swear to you, they’d have to keep their word.”

“Yes, but then I’d have, like, pet Death Eaters,” Harry points out. “I’d have to walk them and clean up after them and everything.”

Hermione giggles, and tries desperately to give him a stern look. Then she gives in. “Bad Death Eater,” she says. “No peeing on the begonias!”

“No cursing the furniture,” Harry contributes.

“Don’t eat the House Elves.”

“Stop clawing the drapes!”

They both dissolve into giggles, and Ron chooses that moment to stick his head into the library and sigh. “You’re both _barmy_ ,” he opines. “Come and have lunch.”


	2. Chapter 2

Harry puts the matter of fealty oaths out of his mind for a while, and would really have preferred to forget about it _entirely_ , except that about a week later, Snape and Malfoy the younger show up on the doorstep to Number 12, looking like they’ve done several rounds apiece with a hippogriff. Normally, Harry would be all for just cursing them and shoving them out for the Aurors to find, but Snape greets him, when he opens the door, with an open hand, on which rests the older man’s wand. There is no sneer on Snape’s ugly face, nothing but a sort of hopeless blankness.

Harry blinks at him, blinks at Malfoy, who is leaning against Snape as though he can’t actually stand without help – and Merlin, that’s definitely blood pooling around Malfoy’s boots, isn’t it – blinks at Snape again, and sighs. “Come in,” he says wearily. “I’ll get Hermione.”

Hermione reacts to the sight of Dumbledore’s killers with surprising equanimity. This is probably helped by the fact that they have both collapsed onto the couch nearest the fire in the sitting room and look like nothing so much as puppets which have had their strings cut.

“Robes off,” she commands, and they obey with jerky movements, as though every muscle hurts. Neither man is wearing a shirt, and their torsos are pale beneath the bruises and cuts which seem to litter every inch. On each left arm, the Dark Mark pulses like a heartbeat, and each pulse makes the Death Eaters wince and flinch.

“So,” Harry says while Hermione starts healing their unwanted guests, “why are you here?”

“Sanctuary,” Snape croaks. Something has happened to his voice – it is harsh and sounds downright painful, not its normal smooth malice at all.

“ _He_ decided we were traitors,” Malfoy says quietly. There are tear tracks on his cheeks, Harry realizes, and his eyes are red with prolonged weeping. “My father is dead. I don’t know where my mother is. Sanctuary.”

Harry looks at Hermione, who meets his gaze for a moment, then shrugs. “Ron won’t like it,” she says. “But it’s your choice.”

“Fuck,” Harry opines, and Snape does not even try to reprimand him for foul language. “What’s going on with the Marks?”

“They’re killing us,” Malfoy says, still quiet and calm. “Behind wards like these, we have a week or so, I think. If you throw us out, maybe a day or two.”

“We have information,” Snape croaks. Hermione looks up from splinting his fingers – Harry winces: Snape’s hands are his livelihood – and says, “Be quiet, Professor. I’ll get to your throat in a minute.”

Snape glares at her, a pale shadow of his normal glare, and subsides into silence.

“We have information,” Malfoy says. “He has things hidden – we know where. I’ll tell you. His wards, his followers. We know most of them.”

“Why?” Harry asks. It’s really the only question.

“Snape’s been on your side forever, Potter,” Malfoy sighs with a faint echo of his normal supercilious sneer. “And I’m dying of my _Lord’s_ mercy. Fuck him. I want him to follow me to hell.”

Harry glances at Hermione again, and she meets his eyes squarely. She knows what he’s thinking, it’s clear on her face. After a moment she shakes her head a little and turns back to her patients.

“Go ask Ron,” she says. “He’s the strategist. If he says it’s a good idea, do it.”

“Thanks, ‘Mione,” Harry murmurs. “You two stay here. If you hurt her, you’ll regret it. I’m not granting sanctuary yet – but I’m not throwing you out either. I’ll be back in a little while. Don’t leave.”

“Not going anywhere, Potter,” Malfoy promises. “Don’t think either of us could make it to the door anyhow.”

“Well, don’t try,” Harry retorts, knowing it’s a weak comeback, and goes to find Ron.

*

“You’re right, I _don’t_ like it,” Ron says when Harry lays the problem before him. “But if you can keep them alive – and on _your_ side – well, it’ll do us good, I have to admit. I’ll probably punch the git as soon as he’s healed enough that it won’t kill him, and Merlin knows I will _never_ like Snape, but tactically it’s the smart thing to do.” He shrugs. “You’ve got my blessing, for whatever that’s worth.”

“It’s worth a hell of a lot, Ron,” Harry replies, and pulls his friend into an impulsive hug. Ron squawks but hugs back tightly.

“Alright,” he says at last, pushing Harry gently away. “Go get ‘em, Harry.”

“Fuck my life,” Harry replies quite sincerely, and goes back downstairs.

*

“I think I can take the Dark Marks off your arms,” he tells Malfoy and Snape, who are looking much better, and are savoring the tea which Kreacher has brought them like it’s ambrosia. To be fair, Kreacher makes very good tea.

Snape arches an eyebrow at him. “Really. The unremovable Marks which doom us and bind us. You think you can remove them.”

Harry glares at him. “Yeah, I do,” he says. “But it will cost you.”

“Of course it will,” Snape croaks. He’s sounding better, but not much. “What price do you set?”

“It’s not me setting it. The only way to take them off is to have you swear fealty _properly_ – because Tom does it wrong, all warped and mis-spoken – to someone as powerful as your former Lord. Which would be me.”

Snape looks at Malfoy. Malfoy looks at Snape. And then one corner of Malfoy’s mouth turns up, a tiny bitter smile, and he says, “You know, Lord Potter _probably_ won’t demand that you suck his cock in front of the entire gathering.” 

Harry goes slightly green. Hermione goes entirely white and gags.

Snape considers this. “He probably won’t Cruciate you half to madness, either,” he agrees. “Though given how much he hates both of us, I suppose I ought not place money on that.” He shrugs, and turns to look at Harry again. “Still, you’re neither mad nor demonstrably evil. At this point, my choices appear to be a hideously painful death or life in your service. I choose life .”

“And so do I,” Malfoy agrees. “How do we do this?”

Harry gulps. “I think you’d better give warrior oaths,” he says after a minute. “Neither of you is really a civilian, and I’m not giving you lands.” He glances at Hermione, who nods minutely. “So, well, I guess…I sit down, and you kneel in front of me.”

Hermione steps forward and helps them down from the couch. They kneel with the ease of long practice, though Harry rather hopes the thick carpet is kinder to their knees than the stone floors of Tom’s audience chamber. He fishes the parchment out of his pocket and hands it to Hermione, then pulls his wand and holds it hilt-first towards the two men.

“Put your wand-hand on the wand’s hilt,” Hermione directs. Snape and Malfoy do so, and Harry takes a deep breath; even that small movement seems to make the air in the room grow heavy with magic.

“Repeat after me,” Hermione instructs. “I, state your name, promise on my power…”

“…that I will to Lord Harry James Potter be faithful and true…of life and limb and earthly honors…against every creature, living or dead, I shall defend him with wand and will….and I shall love all that he loves, and shun all that he shuns…and never, by will nor by force, by word nor by work….do aught of what is loathful to him…on condition that he keep me as I am willing to deserve.”

The magic in the room is very thick now, and Harry can feel it thrumming around him, waiting for him to complete the circuit. He takes a deep breath.

“It is right,” he says , voice cracking a little, and feels the magic settle around his shoulders like a cloak, “that those who offer to us unbroken fidelity should be protected by our aid. Be it known to all persons, present and future, that we have received our beloved Draco Malfoy and Severus Snape as our liege men, and will hold them against every creature, living or dead, and will return to them the loyalty they have promised, and keep them as they deserve.” He does not want to describe either of these men as ‘beloved,’ but that is how the oath goes, and he’s not willing to mess with it, not when it’s so vital to the continued existence of two lives.

The magic flows through him, through the wand in his hand, down into his new vassals, and out again, forming a perfect circuit between the three men. Harry feels like he has just woken up from a long and satisfying sleep, like he suddenly has the energy to run a marathon and fight a dragon. And on the pale left arms of his two new vassals, the Dark Mark fades and twists and brightens again into a new configuration: a lion rampant, bright as gold, with green eyes, wearing a shining silver serpent about its neck like a collar, and bearing in its paws a lightning bolt like a sword.

Malfoy and Snape sag back, hands falling from the wand hilt, and stare down at their new Marks.

“Sweet Merlin,” Malfoy says after a long moment. “You did it.” He glances up at Harry, and then smiles a rather wry smile. “My Lord.”

“Don’t call me that,” Harry says, pushing himself to his feet and holstering his wand. “Come on; let’s get you fed and find you bedrooms. I suppose you’ll be staying, at least for now.”

Snape and Malfoy exchange a glance and stand, falling into place at Harry’s right and left shoulder. “Of course, my Lord,” Snape says, and smirks a little when Harry glares at him. “As you command.”

“Merlin,” Harry sighs. “Fuck my life.”

Hermione leads the way out of the sitting room and into the kitchen. “Tea,” she tells Kreacher decisively. “I think we _all_ need tea.”


	3. Chapter 3

Ron comes down to find them in the kitchen, and pulls up a chair and a plate of biscuits. Harry pushes the sugar over to him.

“So, Lord Harry, is it now?”

Harry thumps his head against the table. “Dear Merlin, Ron, is _everyone_ going to be ragging on me about this?”

“I feel like I should point out that I have not teased you about this at _all_ ,” Hermione says. Harry raises his head and gives her a grateful look. Hermione smirks. “Yet. Lord Harry.” Harry’s head meets the table again.

“Anyway,” Ron says, “what are we going to do with your new pet Slytherins, Harry?”

Malfoy attempts to give Ron a withering look; it goes less well than it might, as Malfoy still looks like something the cat dragged in.

Harry lifts his head, takes a sip of tea, and thinks. “Well, for starters, they need to heal up. ‘Mione’s done a marvelous job, and thank you for that, I couldn’t have done it, but they still look awful.”

Snape grimaces. “Once I have slept a little, I will be able to heal us, or direct Miss Granger in doing so.”

“Great,” Harry says. “So that’s step one. Step two is getting whatever information they brought to use as bribes. Step three is acting on it, I suppose.” He pauses, and thinks for a moment. “Oh, and step four is quite possibly sending Snape to jail for being a murdering asshole.”

Snape winces a little. “My Lord,” he says quietly, “there is information you do not have.”

Harry eyes him dubiously. “After you’ve slept and been healed,” he says at last. “I’m not Tom: I won’t interrogate you while you’re still in pain. Finish your tea; there’s bedrooms on this floor, since I’m not convinced you can make it up the stairs, either of you. We will deal with all of this _tomorrow_.”

“Yes, my Lord,” Snape says, sounding rather subdued. Harry grimaces.

“And for the love of Merlin, Snape – just call me Potter, or Harry. ‘My Lord’ sounds far too much like Tom.”

Snape doesn’t answer, but he does finish his tea and give Malfoy a hand up, leading him towards the empty bedrooms. Harry supposes he’ll have to take that as good enough.

*

Late the next afternoon, Harry finds himself back in the sitting room, facing his new vassals across a low table. They look much better today: neither is shaking with after-Cruciatus tremors, their wounds have closed into pale scars, and even Snape’s fingers have been unsplinted, save one on his left hand which is still healing. Still, Harry cannot quite get the image of their previous state out of his mind, so he is gentler than he might otherwise have been with these old enemies. “Dumbledore,” he says, and Snape sighs and closes his eyes as though trying to block out a horrid memory.

“I killed him,” Snape admits evenly.

“I was there,” Harry replies. “I saw. He begged you for mercy, and you killed him anyway.”

“No,” Snape says, and raises a hand before Harry can protest. “I will show you proof, if you have access to a Pensieve – there is one in the Headmaster’s office, and Minerva will doubtless let you borrow it – but I swear to you on the Mark you gave me that he begged me, not for mercy, but to slay him before Draco could be forced to do so. It was part of his grand plan.”

Harry stares. Snape still has his eyes closed – Harry suddenly realizes that between Snape’s continued weariness and the fealty bond constraining him, Harry could probably hurt Snape quite badly right now if he wanted to. And Snape is _expecting_ him to do so.

_“Severus,” Dumbledore had said. “Please.”_ But Dumbledore was dying already, the cursed ring and the poison in his veins both working against him, and battlefield mercy is still a kind of mercy, isn’t it?

“I’ll want that proof,” Harry says at last, harshly. “I’ll write to Professor McGonagall and ask for the loan of the Pensieve. But for now I’ll take your word for it – though if you’ve lied to me, you _will_ regret it.”

“I have not lied,” Snape says, and opens his eyes. There is faint surprise in his expression – well, he probably thought Harry was going to throw a tantrum. Tempting as that sounds, Harry can’t afford the time right now.

“You said you had information on Tom,” he says instead. “Let me go get Ron and Hermione. They’ll need to hear it too.”

*

“Let’s start with why _he_ decided you were traitors,” Hermione suggests. “I would have thought that having killed the Headmaster and let Death Eaters into the school would have been enough to make your Lord very happy with both of you.”

Malfoy grimaces. “He was, for a while. Quite pleased, actually, not that the Dark Lord’s pleasure is actually a nice thing to witness. But there’s a lot of backstabbing among the Death Eaters. I suspect my Aunt Bella, or perhaps Dolohov, of starting the rumors, but someone claimed that if I was truly devoted to my Lord, I would have brought the Headmaster’s wand to him as a symbol of my devotion. _He_ really liked that idea, and got rather unhappy that I hadn’t done so.”

Harry frowns. ‘Rather unhappy’ probably translates to regular torture sessions, knowing what he does of Voldemort.

“Then someone told _Him_ something about a diary that my father was supposed to be looking after,” Malfoy continues, and blinks in surprise when Harry, Ron, and Hermione all suck in their breath in shock and dismay. “I didn’t know anything about it, but clearly _you_ do.”

“I know far too much about it,” Harry says. “It was a very dangerous Dark artifact. Go on.”

Malfoy shrugs, clearly accepting that he isn’t going to get more explanation than that. “Well, _He_ hauled my father in and…questioned him.” Malfoy’s face twists in remembered horror. “My father admitted that the diary had been destroyed, though he still had the remains. The Dark Lord was…furious.” He shudders. “It took my father three days to die.”

“Dear Merlin,” Ron whispers. Hermione goes green.

“I am sorry for your loss,” Harry says quietly. “I didn’t like your father, but _you_ loved him, and so I am sorry.”

Malfoy gives him a rather weak smile. “Thanks, Potter.” He shakes himself. “Anyway. _He_ decided that if my father was a traitor, I and my mother must be too. But my mother vanished at some point during my father’s last days. I think Aunt Bella may have hidden her somewhere, though Mother would not have left me willingly. So there was only me left for him to punish – and he assumed my mother’s flight was proof of her guilt, and thus mine.”

Snape takes up the tale. “Draco is my godson,” he says, “and I swore an Unbreakable Vow to Narcissa that I would keep him alive. Which Bellatrix knew, as she witnessed it. I suspect she wanted me dead so that her own star could rise – I was quite favored for most of the last few months, and she was very jealous. In any case, when the Dark Lord’s wrath fell on Draco, I attempted to intervene. I thought perhaps my high status would let me intercede without attracting his ire.”

“It didn’t work,” Harry says, not bothering to make it a question.

Snape shrugs. “ _He_ decided that attempting to defend a traitor was proof itself of treason. And, of course, ironically enough it’s true that I was betraying him, though Draco was not, at the time. Dumbledore had plans which I was even then attempting to carry out.”

Harry nods. “We’ll need to talk about those later,” he says. “I suspect we’ve been working on opposite ends of the same problem. But go on.”

“There is not much left to tell. The Dark Lord encouraged his loyal followers to ‘soften us up’ in preparation for his own…amusements. I managed to overpower Avery and we fled. I could think of nowhere to go but here – Hogwarts would not welcome us.”

“And I would?” Harry asks incredulously. Ron barks a laugh.

“Mate – you _did_ ,” he points out.

Harry sighs. “Saving people thing,” he says, and Hermione chuckles. “Well,” he adds, “that explains why you’re here, and why you swore to me so willingly. It’s dinner-time; let’s eat, and then I’ll write to Professor McGonagall about the Pensieve. Tomorrow you can tell me the rest of it.”

“As you command,” Snape replies smoothly, and smirks when Harry glares at him.


	4. Chapter 4

“Dumbledore tasked me with looking for certain items,” Snape says the next day. “He did not tell me _why_ they were important, only that they were vital to the war effort, and how I might go about detecting them.”

“I know why,” Harry says. “So do Ron and Hermione. If I ever trust you, I might tell you. But it’s…not safe knowledge to have.”

Snape gives him an approving nod. Harry will never understand Slytherins. “Whatever they are,” Snape says, “I have found – or know of – several. One was the diary which precipitated this…fiasco.”

“And which I destroyed,” Harry confirms. “Actually – ‘Mione, if a basilisk fang destroyed the diary, would it work on the other items?”

“Good thought!” Hermione crows, scribbling it down.

“Potter,” Snape says, “where in Merlin’s name did you find a basilisk fang?”

“In a basilisk?” Harry replies. “That was the monster in the Chamber – Fawkes and I killed it.”

As though the mention of its name is a summoning spell – and perhaps it is – Fawkes chooses that moment to flame into existence above Harry’s head, trill out a snatch of glorious song, and land on Harry’s shoulder. For a long moment, everyone in the room stares blankly at the phoenix.

“Right,” Harry says at last. “Hi, Fawkes. I will figure out why you’re here _after_ we finish this conversation, alright?”

The phoenix trills what sounds like an affirmative and settles in more comfortably on Harry’s shoulder. Harry turns his attention back to Snape. “You were saying?”

“The second item was the ring which cursed the Headmaster,” Snape says after a moment. “It was doubly important to him, for reasons he never explained to me, but it was definitely one of the…desired items. Albus thought there were five more, besides the ring and the diary. I suspect one to be Nagini, the Dark Lord’s snake.”

“So they _can_ be living beings!” Hermione gasps.

Snape arches an eyebrow at her. “Apparently so,” he agrees. “Besides the snake, I am under the impression that one was given to Bellatrix, and one is in Hogwarts somewhere.”

“I know where Aunt Bella’s is,” Draco puts in. “Back before she decided to get me killed, she took me to her vault and showed me, very proudly, a golden cup the Dark Lord had asked her to guard. She told me it was a great mark of his favor, and meant she was destined to be at his side forever.”

“Eurgh,” Ron says. “I mean, I know Bellatrix is completely bonkers, but that’s just nasty.” Draco nods, grimacing, and the two boys share a look of complete disgust, then realize that they’ve agreed with each other about something and hurriedly look away.

“I know _what_ one of the last two is, but not where,” Harry says. “It’s a locket, probably one owned by Salazar Slytherin. It was _supposed_ to be in a cave guarded by Inferi, but someone else got to it before the Headmaster and I did. I’ll tell you about it later.”

“That leaves one,” Hermione says, looking at her list. “Diary, ring, snake, locket, cup, something in Hogwarts, and something unknown. That’s a lot better than we were doing even yesterday.”

“ _And_ we might know how to destroy them, if we can get them into the Chamber – or if I go retrieve a fang,” Harry says. “ _Good_.”

“Potter,” says Malfoy, “why are these so important?”

“We need them to kill Tom,” Harry says. “I cannot tell you more than that.”

Malfoy nods slowly. “In that case,” he says, “I have a suggestion.”

*

“Why are we trying to kidnap a Death Eater again?” Ron hisses in Harry’s ear.

“Because if we can get our hands on her vault, we have another Horcrux?” Harry replies. “Oh, and because she’s probably keeping Narcissa Malfoy prisoner, and as far as I know the worst thing Mrs. Malfoy’s ever done is look snooty and marry an arsehole. Which isn’t a crime.”

“And Harry’s taking this fealty thing seriously,” Hermione chimes in. “I mean, you’re trying to defend Malfoy and make his life better, even though you don’t like him.”

Harry shrugs. “It’s…I can’t really explain it,” he says weakly. “The fealty magic is actually really strong. I’m not surprised Tom doesn’t want to use the real oaths: he’d never be able to waste his Death Eaters’ lives like he does, if they were properly bound.”

“Alright, fine,” Ron grunts. “So why are we doing this the _Muggle_ way?”

“First, because she won’t be expecting it. Second, because we’re underage and out from under the wards on Number 12. And third, because I want to hit her very hard with a Beater’s bat, and I am going to take this opportunity to do so.”

Ron considers this, then shrugs. “Fair enough. Here she comes.”

Malfoy is playing distraction, and he does it very well. He steps out of the alley across the way just as Bellatrix is almost upon it, sees her, screams, and turns to flee. She draws her wand and turns to pursue him, snarling something incoherent, and Harry rises up behind her, covered in the Cloak, and clobbers her as hard as he can across the back of the head with a bat.

Bellatrix goes down like a ton of bricks. Ron and Hermione seize her; Malfoy comes running across to help. Between the four of them, they manage to tie her up, take her wand, and carry her off – with Fawkes’ invaluable assistance – before anyone can come see what the commotion is about.

And before anyone knows that she has been taken, Bellatrix is chained to a wall in the dungeon of Number 12 Grimmauld Place, and Snape is pouring half a vial of Veritaserum down her throat.

*

“Where is Narcissa?” Snape inquires, voice as calm and cold as ice. There is a reason he is performing this interrogation, and it is, quite simply, that no one else could possibly keep their composure. But Snape’s control is legendary, and so Harry has tasked him with getting the information they need from Bellatrix.

“Wisteria House,” Bellatrix says hoarsely, and Malfoy makes a soft sound of comprehension. Harry raises an eyebrow at him.

“A Black property – part of Mother’s dowry,” Malfoy murmurs. “I know the passwords to get in.”

“How have you induced her to stay there?” Snape demands.

“Imperius,” Bellatrix drawls. Malfoy hisses between his teeth. Harry shakes his head.

“Where is your vault key?” is the next question. They’ll need that, after all.

“In my pocket,” Bellatrix admits, and Snape relieves her of it before glancing back at Harry. Harry nods; Snape hands the key to Malfoy, along with a strand of hair from Bellatrix’s unkempt locks.

“Tell me everything you know of the Dark Lord’s plans,” Snape commands, and Bellatrix, fighting the potion every step of the way, does as she is told.

*

“It takes a month to make Polyjuice,” Hermione observes. “But I think anyone with the key can go into a Gringotts vault.”

Malfoy nods. “That’s true,” he agrees. “The goblins don’t care _who_ has the key, as long as they have it.”

“You can’t go,” Hermione says. “Or Snape. You’ll probably get seen, and you’re wanted by the Aurors _and_ the Death Eaters.”

“You don’t know what the cup looks like,” Malfoy argues. “I _need_ to go.”

Harry raises a hand, and his companions fall silent. “How’s this,” he says. “We’ll go rescue Malfoy’s mum, first off. Then we send her in to get the cup, with Malfoy under the Cloak to identify it, since it makes sense that she’s have Bellatrix’s key, them being sisters. The goblins would probably give me _really_ odd looks if I tried.”

Ron gives him a long look. “You trust Malfoy to bring the cup back to you, mate?”

Harry shrugs. “He’s my sworn vassal,” he says mildly. “I ought to be able to trust him. And he wants Tom dead as badly as I do.”

Ron grimaces. “I don’t like it,” he says plainly, “but it will probably work, if Mrs. Malfoy will go along with it.”

“If you rescue her, and Draco explains the circumstances, she will be pleased to aid you,” Snape says. “She will consider herself to owe you a debt, Mr. Potter.”

“Then we’ll do that,” Harry says. “Everyone get your things together; we’re off to Wisteria House. Malfoy, tell Fawkes where we’re going, would you? I can’t think of any other way to get us all there together.”

Malfoy nods, and turns to the phoenix, which is perched on the back of an empty chair. Fawkes chirps at him. Harry has still not found time to have a talk with the phoenix – inasmuch as one can talk with a nonhuman entity which doesn’t speak English – but Fawkes has made it clear that he is here to help Harry, and will do whatever is required for that task. Harry is grateful beyond words. Fawkes has made his life _vastly_ easier, which is a rare thing these days.


	5. Chapter 5

Wisteria House is small and lovely, with flowers climbing up its walls – Harry is willing to wager that they are wisterias, in fact, though as his Aunt Petunia has none in her garden and they have not come up in Herbology, he’s not certain of it.

Malfoy does, in fact, know the passwords for the wards – apparently they’re Black family traditions – and Harry follows him into the little garden warily. Bellatrix said there was no one here but Narcissa and a single house elf, but that might have changed.

But, indeed, when they peer through the door behind Malfoy as he opens it, there is Narcissa, sitting at a table, staring into nothingness. Malfoy makes a sort of strangled sobbing noise, and Snape points his wand over Malfoy’s shoulder at the Imperiused woman and snaps, “ _Finite Incatati Omnes!_ ”

Narcissa gasps, hands flying to her head, and then whirls to look at them, crowded into the doorway as they are. “Draco!” she cries, and leaps from her chair to gather her son into her arms. Malfoy folds against her, burying his face in her shoulder, and Harry turns to watch the outside world, pulling Ron and Hermione with him. This reunion is not for them to witness.

After quite a few minutes, Snape clears his throat, and Harry turns around again. Narcissa has gotten herself under control, though the tear-tracks on her cheeks are still rather visible, and she gives Harry a deep and graceful curtsey.

“For my son’s life and my freedom, I thank you, Lord Potter,” she says.

“You’re quite welcome, but please don’t call me that,” Harry replies. “And now we had all better get going, I think. We can have a proper conversation at Grimmauld.”

Fawkes appears from wherever he’d gone off to, and Harry cannot quite help a smile at the astonished look on Mrs. Malfoy’s face. And then they are surrounded in heatless flames, and Grimmauld Place takes form around them. “Welcome to Sanctuary,” Harry says. “Make yourself at home, I suppose.”

*

It takes a while for Malfoy and Snape to explain everything to Narcissa. Harry leaves them alone in the sitting room and retreats into the kitchen to play twenty questions with a phoenix, to Ron and Hermione’s amusement.

“You’re here to help us,” he confirms. Fawkes trills.

“Can you get us in and out of Hogwarts?” Another affirmative.

“Are you okay with the fact that I’ve become a Lord?” This gets him a long trill and a head-butt, which is definitely affectionate. Harry takes it as a ‘yes.’

“Are you my familiar now?” Trill.

Harry takes a deep breath. “Was Snape really following Dumbledore’s orders?”

The answer is a long, sad trill, and a deep nod of Fawkes’ head. Harry sighs and opens his arms, and the phoenix huddles into his lap. Harry strokes it gently.

“Poor Fawkes,” Hermione says quietly. Ron nods.

So they are all in a rather somber mood when the three Slytherins come into the kitchen.

*

Narcissa sweeps Harry another curtsey, and Harry, rather pinned down by the phoenix in his lap, nods to her as graciously as he can. “Have a seat and some tea,” he invites. The Slytherins do so.

“Severus and Draco have explained to me what you did to free them of the Dark Lord’s hold,” Narcissa says, after a cup of tea and several of Kreacher’s very good biscuits. “I myself never took his Mark, as he did not feel that most women were…worthy of his attentions. But I understand that you cannot trust me, as the Dark Lord has been living in my home, and my husband, son, sister, and cousin all served the Dark Lord.”

Harry nods. “Nothing against you personally,” he says. “I don’t know that I like you, but then, I don’t know you at all. If Snape says you’re free of spells and potions, well, I trust him to know what he’s talking about, but that says nothing at all about your personal loyalties.”

Snape gives Harry a rather startled look, but Harry chooses to ignore it. He still doesn’t like Snape at all – probably never will – but he will admit that Snape is very good at his job, and he suspects that when that Pensieve shows up, it will confirm that Snape has never been anything but Dumbledore’s man. Until now – the Mark on his arm makes him Harry’s now, and isn’t that an uncomfortable thought?

Narcissa nods regally. “Family is everything to me,” she says quietly. “You have saved my son, who is dearer to me than anything else in the world, and you have done so when his former Lord would have slain him out of hand, for no cause. My son and Severus both tell me that you are kind even when you are angry, that you gave them care with no expectation of recompense, and that your Mark does not burn as the Dark Mark did, even when it was dormant.” Harry blinks – he had not known that the Dark Mark was a constant irritant, only that it could be painful when Voldemort wanted it to be. He wonders if Voldemort himself knows about that aspect of the Mark.

“If I am to aid you, as my debt to you requires,” Narcissa continues, “you must be able to trust me, you and your faithful companions alike.” She spreads her hands, as though laying her argument on the table. “Will you accept my oath of fealty?”

Harry gapes. Marking Snape and Malfoy was one thing – they needed the Dark Mark removed before it could kill them. But Marking Narcissa is a completely different matter.

Ron clears his throat. “Mate, you know I don’t like Slytherins,” he says. “I don’t trust them. They’re too slippery, always got plans they’re not telling you. But if she swears to you, I’ll be a lot happier about sending her and Malfoy after the cup.”

Hermione shrugs when Harry looks at her. “I’m the one who did the research," she points out. “It’s archaic and feudalistic, but since everyone has to enter into the oath willingly – the magic won’t work if you’re spelled or coerced – it’s not slavery or even unwilling servitude.”

Narcissa nods at Hermione. “Back before the rise of the Ministry, the great Lords answered only to the Crown . The Blacks were Lords then; the Potters and Longbottoms, also. And many others; there are books in the Black library naming them and describing their holdings. It was an honorable choice to swear to a great Lord, though of course one needed to choose wisely, as the Marks are impossible to remove.” She smiles. “When properly placed, of course.”

Harry sighs and looks at Fawkes, who trills cheerfully, and then at Snape, who gives him a dour nod. “Alright,” he says. “Come into the sitting room and we’ll do this properly, Mrs. Malfoy. And then I suppose I’d better tell you what I need you to do.”

*

Narcissa kneels gracefully on the carpet in front of Harry and puts her hands between his. She has chosen the civilian version of the oath, which means that after this Harry needs to go ask Hermione what a Lord’s duties to a civilian vassal are.

“I, Narcissa Black Malfoy, become your liege woman from this day forth, in life, in magic, and in worldly honor,” Narcissa says – apparently she knew the oath already. Harry can feel the magic beginning to gather around them. “I shall owe you faith for the lands I hold of you, and I will observe my homage to you completely against all persons in good faith and without deceit.”

Harry takes a deep breath. “It is right that those who offer us unbroken fidelity should be protected by our aid,” he says, and feels the magic settle about him. “Be it known to all persons, present or future, that we have received our beloved Narcissa Black Malfoy as our liege woman, and will hold her against every creature, living or dead, and will return to her the loyalty she has promised, and keep her as she deserves.”

Narcissa gasps as Harry’s Mark etches itself onto her arm, and Harry shivers as the magic settles into place around him. And then it is done.

Narcissa examines her new Mark for a moment, then looks up at Harry curiously. “Did you choose this image?” she inquires.

“No – it just sort of happened,” Harry says.

Hermione leans forward. “Really? I thought you might have unexpected artistic depths. I wonder if Tom chose _his_ Mark?”

“An interesting question, but probably not very useful in the long run,” Harry says, and stands, giving Narcissa a hand up which she takes gracefully. “Now I think we need to plan this Gringotts venture, and then I should get in touch with an Auror about the Death Eater we’ve got locked in the basement.”


	6. Chapter 6

Waiting for Malfoy and his mother to return is its own form of torture. Harry curls up with a book on the duties of a Lord to his vassals, but is swiftly distracted from the dry tome when Ron brings out his chess set and challenges Snape to a game. Snape sneers but accepts, clearly expecting an easy victory; ten moves later, he is frowning at the board in surprise and dismay. “Weasley,” he says, “how is it that you are clever enough to challenge _me_ at chess, and yet your schoolwork was almost uniformly mediocre?”

Ron shrugs. “Chess makes sense,” he replies.

Harry chuckles. “And that is why Ron is our strategist,” he points out. “Bet you a Sickle he beats you.”

“Hey!” Ron objects. “Aren’t you surer than a Sickle?”

Harry grins. “I don’t want to bankrupt Snape, is all, mate.”

“Well, that’s alright then,” Ron allows. Snape raises an eyebrow at both of them.

“Very well,” he rasps – his voice is not yet completely recovered – “I accept your wager, Mr. Potter.”

Half an hour later, he extends one long finger and tips over his king. “I concede,” he says sourly. “You have hidden depths, Mr. Weasley.”

Ron holds out his hand to shake, and grins when Snape clasps it. “Good game, Professor. And you owe Harry a Sickle.”

“So I do,” Snape admits. “It is just as well that Narcissa consented to visit my vault as well as her sister’s.”

*

Narcissa and her son return shortly after Snape concedes the chess game. Malfoy hands Harry back the Cloak, rather to Harry’s relief, and Narcissa places a golden cup on the table. Harry recoils from it. It _reeks_ of Dark magic.

“Yep,” he chokes out. “that’s the right item. Thank you, Malfoy, Mrs. Malfoy. Now we need to put this somewhere safe, and then I can get an Auror in to take care of Bellatrix.”

Kreacher puts down the duster he has been using on the mantelpiece and suggests, “Master Harry Potter could put the cup in the trophy cupboard.”

Narcissa nods. “Yes – that has heavy wards. It’s down this way.” She leads them to the same cabinet where Harry has been keeping the locket, so with a rather brittle smile, Harry puts the real Horcrux down next to the false one that got Dumbledore killed.

“Good job, everyone,” he says, closing the cabinet and relaxing as its wards block the cup’s miasma. “Now, you three go upstairs and stay out of sight while I get in touch with an Auror.”

“I suggest you contact Kingsley Shacklebolt,” Snape says. “He is a member of the Old Crowd, well-respected, and sensible.”

“Him, then,” Harry agrees. Fawkes trills and vanishes. The three Slytherins glance at each other and hurry up the stairs.

*

“Harry, Ron, Hermione,” Shacklebolt greets them. “This is rather a surprise.”

“We’re working on something the Headmaster left us,” Harry explains briefly. “And I inherited this house from Sirius when he died, so we’re using its wards and library.”

“That all makes sense,” Shacklebolt agrees. “And I won’t ask _what_ you’re working on, since if Dumbledore had wanted me to know, he’d have told me. What do you need from me?”

“We were out in London the other day and ran across Bellatrix Lestrange,” Harry says. “We’ve got her in the basement. Can you take her in to the Ministry and make sure she gets locked back up properly?”

“Bellatrix Lestrange?” Shacklebolt’s eyebrows climb nearly to his hairline. “Yes, I can take her into custody. How did you manage to capture her, may I ask?”

Harry turns to lead Shacklebolt to the basement. “Ron distracted her and I cracked her across the head with a Beater’s bat,” he replies. He is not planning on letting Shacklebolt know about the Slytherins yet, and so keeping Draco out of the story seems by far the wisest choice.

“Crude, but effective,” Shacklebolt allows. Bellatrix is Stunned and bound on the stone floor of the basement, right where Harry left her. Shacklebolt levitates her and nods to Harry. “Do let me know if you come across any _other_ stray Death Eaters. And do note that I’m not asking what you’ve been doing with her before you called me in.”

“Noted,” Harry agrees. “Thanks.” And he leads Shacklebolt out.


	7. Chapter 7

That night over dinner they hold a council of war: three Slytherins and three Gryffindors in rare accord. Harry has still not heard back from Professor McGonagall, which worries all of them.

“We need at least three things from Hogwarts,” Hermione points out. “The Pensieve, a basilisk fang, and whatever Tom hid there.”

“I know where _two_ of those are,” Harry says, “but we don’t even know what we’re looking for of Tom’s, much less where it might be hidden.”

Snape taps his fingers thoughtfully on the table. “The Dark Lord is obsessed with his heritage, and with Hogwarts and its founders,” he observes. “The cup from Bellatrix’s vault looks to me like the lost Hufflepuff Cup, and the false locket closely resembles Slytherin’s crest. The diary was of course the Dark Lord’s own.”

“The ring was the Gaunt family signet,” Harry supplies. “They were Tom’s ancestors, and Slytherin’s last recognized descendants.”

“Perhaps the item in Hogwarts is related to Ravenclaw or Gryffindor, then, or to the Dark Lord’s personal history,” Snape theorizes.

“He’s got a trophy for getting Hagrid kicked out,” Ron puts in. “I had to polish it – remember the slugs?” He shudders.

“Good thought,” Harry applauds his friend.

Malfoy shifts uncomfortably. “When I was working on the Cabinets,” he says, and Harry nods encouragingly at him, “the Come-and-Go Room was full of…stuff. And maybe the Room could bring you the item you need.”

“It _does_ bring you what you most require,” Hermione muses. “Even if we don’t know what the item _is_ , the magic might still work.”

“Worth trying if it isn’t the trophy,” Harry decides. “I’ll go tomorrow. Snape, you’ll be coming with me, under the Cloak.”

Snape looks startled. “Why me?”

Harry ticks the reasons off on his fingers. “If Professor McGonagall won’t let us borrow the Pensieve, she might let us use it in her office, and it’s your memories I need to see. You’re the best able to defend me if necessary. You probably know how to harvest the basilisk bits safely. You can do magic without Ministry notice, unlike us poor underage students. And you are a Defense expert, so if we find the item and it’s cursed, you might be able to un-curse it.”

Snape blinks slowly at him. “A very…cogent set of arguments, Mr. Potter.”

Harry nods. “We’ll leave after breakfast tomorrow.”

*

Hogwarts looks as it always has, and Harry, staring up at it from the gate, is suddenly overcome with a wave of homesickness. He wants to run up to Gryffindor tower and curl up in front of the fire and never come down again. He wants to see Dumbledore twinkle at him and McGonagall turn into a cat and little Dennis Creevy fall off of the bench in the Great Hall. He wants to come _home_.

But he has things to do.

Professor McGonagall meets him at the door, looking drawn and wan. “The wards alerted me to your presence,” she tells him. “Welcome, Mr. Potter. Come in.” He follows her through the silent halls, unnerved by the lack of students. “I received your letter, but sadly I could not find time to answer it,” she continues. “The Ministry has been…meddling. And there have been attacks on the wards.”

“Attacks?” Harry asks. McGonagall gives him a brief smile.

“Nothing I cannot handle, Mr. Potter. Don’t worry yourself. I’d wager you did not come here to hear of _my_ troubles.”

“No,” Harry replies solemnly, “but that does not mean they aren’t important. If I _can_ help, please let me know. We need to support each other, if we’re going to win this war.”

McGonagall gives him an appraising look. “A wise observation,” she says. “Very well; I will tell you if I should need your aid. But now – what do _you_ need of _me_?”

“I need to use the Headmaster’s Pensieve – privately – and then I need to visit the trophy room, the Room of Requirements, and Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom.”

McGonagall blinks. “What an odd list of errands, Mr. Potter. But all quite doable. Here we are – lemon drops – so I will just let you borrow the Pensieve first.” She leads them up the stairs, past the gargoyle. Harry can’t help tearing up a little at the password, but McGonagall politely pretends not to notice.

*

Half an hour later, Harry lifts his face out of Snape’s memories and gags. “How _could_ he?” he cries. “Merlin – that was just… _cold_!”

Snape, unCloaked and uneasy, shrugs a little. “This is a war, Potter, and I am hardly the most valuable piece in play.”

Harry scowls and steps forward to stab a finger into Snape’s chest. “Don’t you talk like that. We are _not_ chess pieces. If we start thinking like that, we’re no better than Tom. There are no ‘acceptable losses’ or ‘expendable resources.’ I don’t like you, but I swear on my mother’s grave that I will _never_ think of you as being less valuable than any other person in the whole damned world!”

Snape stares down at him, dark eyes unreadable. “A very…Gryffindor sentiment,” he says at last, but there is no bite to it.

“Yes, well, the Hat notwithstanding, I’m a fairly Gryffindor person,” Harry says, and steps away, dropping his hand a little sheepishly. “And don’t give me that look – Hermione’s had me reading all these old law books, some of the language has stuck with me.”

“I was more curious about your mention of the Hat,” Snape says, and then glances up and freezes. Harry turns. McGonagall is standing in the doorway.

“I heard shouting,” she says faintly. “Mr. Potter, what…?”

Harry glances at Snape, who raises an eyebrow, then nods. “You’d better have a look in the Pensieve, Professor,” Harry says. “Then…then I guess I’ll explain, if you still need me to.”

*

McGonagall emerges from the Pensieve hissing with rage. “Severus – how could he _do_ that to you?” she demands, and to Snape’s clear shock, seizes him in a tight hug. Harry cannot help being amused when Snape first flails in surprise, then pats McGonagall awkwardly on the back.

“It’s alright,” he says, all his customary eloquence deserting him. “It worked.”

McGonagall pulls away and glares at him, then turns to Harry. “I am very proud of you, Mr. Potter,” she says. “You do our House proud.” She draws herself up, wrapping her dignity back around her. “And now I will leave you gentlemen to your errands. Do come and take tea with me before you leave.”

“Yes, Professor,” Harry says meekly.


	8. Chapter 8

“The entrance to the Chamber of Secrets is in a girls’ bathroom?” Snape hisses incredulously from under the Cloak.

“Either Slytherin was very cunning or the bathroom wasn’t here originally, and the castle moved the entrance to match the pipes,” Harry replies. “Hello, Myrtle.”

“Oh! Harry, you came _back_ – but isn’t it summer?”

“It is. Professor McGonagall gave me special permission to come,” Harry explains.

“Just to see _me_?” Myrtle squeals. “Oh, Harry, you’re so sweet!”

“Well, you’re hard to forget,” Harry admits. “How have you been?”

“Bored,” Myrtle says sadly. “Summers are always boring. I can’t even watch that sexy Potions professor bathe – he left! Do you know what happened?”

Harry hears Snape choke behind him, and honestly feels a little ill himself. Snape, sexy? Merlin, what a horrid thought! “He got another job,” Harry tells Myrtle, “and had to leave in a hurry.”

“Oh, well,” Myrtle sighs. “Maybe some of next year’s Prefects will be cute. Will _you_ be a Prefect, Harry?”

“I highly doubt it,” Harry says. “I’m very bad at following rules – it wouldn’t be fair of me to enforce them.” He shrugs. “Could I ask you a favor, Myrtle?”

“Oooh!” says Myrtle. “What sort of favor?”

“Well, I’m working on a very important summer project, and I need to go down into the Chamber,” Harry explains. “Could you guard the door and make sure no one else comes in while I’m down there?”

“I can do that!” Myrtle exclaims excitedly. “Don’t you worry, Harry: I’ve got your back.”

“Thanks, Myrtle, that means a lot to me,” Harry says, and as she floats over to the door, turns to the marked tap. “Open,” he commands, and hears his voice emerge as a sibilant hiss.

*

The trip down the tunnel is as unpleasant as he remembers, and when they reach the bottom, Snape spells them both clean and pulls the Cloak off, bundling it into a pocket. “That was a very Slytherin conversation, Potter,” he observes. “You told nothing but the truth, and yet told her exactly what she wanted to hear.”

Harry shrugs. “The Hat offered me Slytherin,” he says. “But I’d just met Malfoy, and Hagrid had told me that evil wizards came from that House. Can you do anything about this cave-in?”

Snape gives him a long look. “You are not quite what I thought you were,” he says. “Fascinating.” Then, looking at the cave-in, he shakes his head. “I don’t think I can move that quickly, easily, or safely.”

“Kind of figured,” Harry admits, and pulls two brooms from the enchanted handbag which Hermione leant him that morning. “We’ll go over – there’s space, that’s how we got out last time, but it’s tight, so keep your head down.” He leads the way, flattening himself against his broom.

The great doors to the Chamber stand ajar, just as he left them, and Harry lands neatly in front of them and tucks the broom back into the bag. Snape, looking uncharacteristically awed, shrinks his broom and puts it into a pocket. Harry pushes open the doors, and Snape lets out a strangled sound of awe and horror.

“Dear _Merlin_ ,” he says. “You killed _that_? At _twelve_? What was Albus _thinking_?”

Harry is also staring at the enormous carcass, the memories flooding back. “It wasn’t fun,” he admits. “Without Fawkes, I would have died. And if I’d been any slower getting here, Ginny would have died too, and Tom would have come back years sooner.”

Snape shakes his head. “You have an uncanny ability to find truly appalling situations,” Potter,” he observes.

“And to survive them,” Harry points out. “Shall we harvest some snake bits?”

Snape gives him a distinctly unimpressed look. “You may hold the bags,” he instructs, and then, pulling dragonhide gloves from another pocket, he gets to work.

*

They head up again with the enchanted handbag full of neatly labeled bags of basilisk skin and bone, several unbreakable vials of venom, and a well-wrapped fang. Snape re-Cloaks before they mount their brooms. Harry closes the doors and the tunnel behind them, and thanks Myrtle for doing such a good job guarding his back. She simpers a little worryingly.

Then they head for the trophy room. They have a Horcrux to find.

*

“Well, it _is_ cursed,” Snape says, examining the trophy from a safe distance.

“But it isn’t what we’re looking for,” Harry says glumly. “I suppose that would have been too easy. I’ll tell McGonagall about this one at tea.”

Snape nods. “That seems the wisest course,” he agrees. “Let us go and investigate Draco’s magical junk room.”

*

Harry paces the corridor three times, thinking as loudly as he can, _I need to find Voldemort’s horcrux. Please help me find Voldemort’s horcrux._

The door appears just as it always has. Snape makes a soft sound of surprise. Harry takes a deep breath and opens the door.

It is, indeed, a magical junk room. Harry stares. He has never in his life seen so much _stuff_. It looks like a grandmother’s attic and a junk shop ran into each other at full speed.

“On the plus side,” he says after a moment, “I _think_ whatever we’re looking for is in here.” They step in, and he closes the door behind them. Snape takes the Cloak back off.

“On the negative side,” Snape drawls, “so is everything else anyone in Hogwarts has ever lost, broken, or thrown away.”

“There’s that,” Harry admits. “Dear Merlin.”

“I could attempt a finding spell on Dark magic,” Snape suggests. “Though I doubt what we are looking for is the _only_ cursed artifact in this place…”

“Still better than wandering aimlessly,” Harry agrees. “Do it – wait. Room, could we have a map of this place?”

There is a moment’s pause, and then Snape’s eyes widen. Harry turns to see a map drawing itself onto the wall behind him.

“Great,” he says, a little shakily. “Thanks, Room. That’s perfect.”

“I can use this,” Snape says, and casts a spell Harry has never heard before. On the map, red dots appear, shining against the black lines. There are nearly twenty of them – but nearly twenty is _still_ better than the _thousands_ of items crowding around them.

“Well, that one’s closest,” Harry says. “Can you do a Point-Me to a specific one?”

“I can,” Snape says, and they are off.


	9. Chapter 9

They bring all the cursed items they find back, very carefully, to pile them beside the door. If nothing else, they can tell McGonagall about them, and she can have someone in – maybe Bill Weasley – to clean Hogwarts of them. But they do not attempt to break any of the curses. There is not time.

Even with the map and the Point-Me spell, it has been several hours, and they are both dusty, scratched, bruised, and remarkably irritable, by the time they stop in front of a small hatmaker’s dummy and blink at the gorgeous diadem resting atop it.

“That’s it,” Harry says after a moment. “Merlin, it _reeks_. Faugh.”

Snape eyes it dubiously. “Is that spelled box you brought going to be big enough?”

“I think so,” Harry says, and fishes it carefully out of the enchanted handbag. “I need to ask Hermione to make me one of these bags,” he says absently. “They’re dead useful.”

“Miss Granger is remarkably sensible in everything but her choice of companions,” Snape snipes. Harry gives him a pointed look, then shrugs.

“Yes, well, I don’t think you get to rag on someone else’s choice of company, Snape.” He takes a deep breath and gets control of his temper again. “And that thing is probably affecting us. Let’s get it boxed and go clean up – McGonagall’s expecting us at tea.”

Snape glowers, but he levitates the diadem into the box with careful movements, and Harry snaps the box shut and relaxes as the Dark magic is contained. “That’s better.”

“Diary, ring, cup, diadem,” Snape murmurs. “Locket. Snake.”

“And one more yet unknown,” Harry sighs. “Well. Small victories.”

*

Snape spells them clean before they leave the Room – they are already late for tea, and Harry realizes suddenly that he is hungry, as they have been searching right through lunch.

McGonagall greets them warmly. “Did you find what you were seeking?” she asks as she pours tea. Harry takes a sandwich from the tray and nods.

“We did,” he says. “And we also found some rather nasty cursed items, which you might want someone to come in and fix.” He finishes the sandwich in three bites and reaches for another, grinning sheepishly when she smiles.

“Give me a list,” she says. “I will contact Gringotts and see if any of their cursebreakers are available for hire.” She turns to Snape. “Severus. Your memory made it clear that you were to go to the Death Eaters and would there be trusted. Yet I find you at Mr. Potter’s side.”

Snape grimaces, then glances at Harry, who nods. Very slowly, Snape unbuttons the cuff of his left sleeve and pushes the fabric up to bare Harry’s Mark. McGonagall sucks in a breath of shock and dismay.

“I was…discovered as a traitor,” Snape says, leaving quite a lot out. “Potter – _Lord_ Potter – was kind enough to take my oath, which saved my life. The Dark Lord’s Mark was killing me. This one…is far more bearable.”

Harry gulps when McGonagall turns to him with wrath in her eyes. “The Dark Mark _was_ killing him, literally,” he says quickly. “And we didn’t have time to research anything else. But it’s…it’s a two-way bond, Professor. Like in the old days. A real bond, not Tom’s mockery.”

McGonagall eyes him dubiously, then examines Snape again. “You _do_ look healthier than when I saw you last,” she says slowly. “But, Mr. Potter, should I ever discover that you are mistreating your vassal, there _will_ be consequences.”

“Yes, Professor,” Harry says meekly. “I won’t, I promise.”

“See to it that you do not,” she says sternly. “Not, mind you, that I suspect you of such inclinations. But power can do strange things to even good men.” She looks down at her hands. “Even Albus, evidently.”

“I don’t want to rule the world,” Harry says quietly. “I just want to be able to live in peace.”

*

The diadem shines in its place next to the cup. Harry sighs. “I can’t decide whether it’s better to destroy these immediately, now that we have the fang, or wait until we have more of them.”

Narcissa frowns. “I would like to say you should destroy them immediately – they are certainly suffused with foul magic – but it looks to me like the cup is the Hufflepuff Cup, and I would be astonished if the other were not the lost Ravenclaw Diadem. They are priceless artifacts. It seems a shame to destroy them so precipitously.”

Hermione looks torn. “And the locket, if we ever find it, is Slytherin’s. Even if he _was_ nasty, he was a Founder, and destroying things the Founders made seems…wrong somehow.”

“If these items were merely cursed,” Snape says slowly, “I could remove the curses. But I have never encountered magic such as these bear. It would perhaps be beneficial if we knew what, precisely, has been done to them.”

Harry glances at his friends. “Leave them here for a little while,” he says. “I need to talk to Ron and Hermione, privately.”

*

“I don’t really want to tell them,” Harry says. “But you and Narcissa have a point, ‘Mione – we don’t want to go around destroying priceless works of art if we don’t have to.”

Ron grimaces. “I don’t trust them, mate,” he says. “They’re sworn to you – but they were sworn to Voldie before, and they betrayed _him_.”

“It wasn’t a proper oath,” Harry points out. “It wasn’t completed.”

“But it _was_ an oath, and they broke it,” Hermione says. “I wonder…wait, let me go get a book.”

She hurries out of the room. Ron and Harry exchange a glance of amused resignation. “She never does change, does she?” Ron says.

“Nope. Not that we’d want her to,” Harry agrees.

Hermione hurries back in with a dusty old book in her hands. “This has all sorts of information on fealty bonds and what you can do with them,” she says. “I think I saw something…” She lays it out on the table and flips through the pages rapidly. “Yes. Here, look.”

Harry bends over the book and puzzles through its archaic wording. It takes him a while – the handwritten text is cramped and faded, and the word choice is sometimes baffling – but at last he looks up in something a little like horror.

“I’m reading this right, yeah?” he says quietly. “I can bind a secret to the Mark, and if they betray it, they’ll die.”

Hermione grimaces. “It’s…it’s not a good option,” she admits. “But if we want Snape’s input – I don’t know if Malfoy or Mrs. Malfoy would have anything useful to contribute – then, well, I guess we could give him a choice? Learn the secret but be bound by this, or don’t learn it and we’ll just destroy the Horcruxes now?”

“Mmph,” Harry says, and considers it. “I don’t like it much, but if we make it a choice…Ron? What do you think?”

Ron considers. “I think you’d better make sure he can’t _use_ the information, either.”

“Oog,” Harry says faintly. “Merlin, I didn’t even _think_ of that. But…well, I don’t _like_ Snape, but I don’t think he’s a cold-blooded murderer anymore. Dumbledore _forced_ him to kill him. And Snape’s not the sort of psycho Tom is; he doesn’t kill for _fun_.”

“He’s a nasty bugger,” Ron points out.

“Not saying he isn’t,” Harry agrees. “He’s an utter prick most of the time. But he’s not…he’s not evil. Just really, really unpleasant.”

Hermione wrinkles her nose thoughtfully. “And he hasn’t been _nearly_ as unpleasant recently, you know. He’s hardly insulted _any_ of us. And he played chess with you, Ron, and Harry, you said he was almost polite while you were at Hogwarts.”

“Huh,” Harry says in surprise. “You know, you’re right. I wonder why.”

Ron gives Harry a dubious look. “Mate – you’re his _Lord_. If he pisses you off, you could torture him to death, just by wanting to. Of _course_ he’s not going to be mean to you! Or to us, since you’ve made it very clear we’re important to you.”

“Um.” Harry grimaces. “On the one hand, I’m glad he’s not being a prick. On the other hand, I’m kind of not okay with him thinking I’m going to torture him for speaking his mind. Damn it. Okay, I’m going to go talk to Snape. Wish me luck. Fuck my life.”

“Are you going to offer him the choice?” Hermione asks as Harry stands.

“Yeah,” Harry says glumly. “What a fun conversation _this_ is going to be.”


	10. Chapter 10

“Snape,” he says, poking his head into the kitchen, where the three Slytherins are taking tea and doing their best not to look worried and curious. “I need to talk to you. Mrs. Malfoy, I was going to ask – could you maybe see about getting this house more fit for human inhabitants? I know nothing about what a proper Wizarding household needs. Malfoy, I’d like you to take a look at the wards on that cabinet and see if you could replicate them. If we _do_ end up keeping the artifacts, I’m going to want them far away from each other.”

Narcissa and Malfoy nod obediently, and Snape rises, leaving his teacup, and follows Harry down the hall.

“Right,” Harry says, closing the door to the sitting room behind them and collapsing into an armchair. “So. Sit down, please. I have two things to discuss with you.”

Snape sits, looking wary.

“First thing. Have you been, well, _not_ insulting me because you think I’ll use the Mark to hurt you if you do?”

Snape blinks at him. “Yes,” he says at last. “My Lord.”

“Merlin,” Harry sighs, and lets his head fall back to thunk against the chair. “Look, I don’t _like_ being insulted, but I won’t hurt you for saying what you think. I’m neither Tom nor Dumbledore. I knew you were a nasty bastard with a horrid temper when I Marked you, and I did it anyhow.”

Snape doesn’t say anything for a long time, and Harry gets tired of staring at the ceiling and finally looks at his vassal. The expression on Snape’s face is nothing Harry can identify.

“You are not what I thought you were,” Snape says finally. “Your father was a bully; your godfather was worse. But you are not them.”

Harry sighs. “No, I’m not,” he says. “I won’t apologize for what my father and godfather did, because it’s not my place. But I will say that if I’d been there, I would have stopped them. I hate bullies. What they did to you was wrong. I understand that you hate them, and why, and honestly I’m not sure I can say you’re wrong to do so.”

Snape is giving him that very odd look again. “You have matured immensely this summer,” he says.

Harry shrugs. “I’ve had to,” he points out. “As far as I can tell, I’m the only one who both _can_ do something about Tom and is willing to do it. Most of the Wizarding folk are doing their best ostrich impressions – sticking their heads in the sand and hoping Tom won’t notice them. I’m it. So I have to be good enough.”

Snape slides out of his chair to kneel at Harry’s feet in a single graceful motion. Harry gapes. Snape looks up at him solemnly, and bares the Mark on his arm. “I am with you,” he says quietly. “You are not alone, my Lord.”

“Thank you,” Harry replies. “Now get up, and please stop calling me that.”

Snape resumes his chair and re-buttons his cuff, looking vaguely amused. “I have never yet met a Lord so reluctant to hear his vassals call him so,” he says. “Gryffindors.”

“Yes, well,” Harry says. “In any case. Don’t…don’t censor yourself because you think I’ll be angry. If I get mad, I’ll just yell a lot. Okay, if I get angry _enough_ , I break inanimate objects, but that only happened once, and it was because the Headmaster told me about the Prophecy just after Sirius died, and I was not in a good place. Anyhow.”

Snape inclines his head. “I hear and obey, my Lord,” he smirks. Harry sighs.

“Fuck my _life_ ,” he says. “Anyhow. Second thing.”

“Yes?”

“Ron and Hermione and I talked about telling you what the things we’re collecting really are. And we decided that we _can_ tell you – and only you, not Malfoy or his mother – but there’s a catch.”

“There always is,” Snape observes.

“True. If you want to know, I’ll bind the secret to your Mark. If you ever tell anyone, or try to use the information to…to do the magic yourself, it will kill you.” Harry grimaces. “Or you can choose _not_ to know, and I’ll take the damned things downstairs and destroy them right now.”

Snape actually takes some time to consider this, which Harry is glad of. Harry takes the time to put his head back and close his eyes. It has been a long week already, and is likely to get even longer.

“What can you tell me without needing to bind me?” Snape asks finally. Harry opens his eyes again.

“They’re incredibly Dark magic, the worst sort imaginable,” he says. “I know some Dark spells have good uses – Hermione says even the Killing Curse used to be used to kill farm animals humanely – but these are…they’re just _foul_. We can’t kill Tom until they’re all gone. They are very hard to destroy – obviously. One of them nearly killed Ginny Weasley her first year.” Harry thinks a minute. “That’s about all I can say without really telling you anything you couldn’t have figured out on your own.”

“Indeed, I had gathered much of that already, but your confirmation is valuable,” Snape agrees. He thinks for another few minutes. “And if I knew the full secret, do you think I could indeed remove the magic from the artifacts?”

“I don’t know about _remove_ ,” Harry says slowly. “But we might be able to move it into something less…priceless. Then we could destroy _that_ , instead.” He shrugs. “Honestly, I’m not completely sure it’s a good idea. But Hermione and Mrs. Malfoy are worried about the Founders’ legacy, and it might be good to know if taking the magic off of things _would_ be possible. I mean, we think one of the others is the snake – what if there are _two_ living beings being used as…as the things I’m not telling you about yet? What if the other is a person?”

“A rather unlikely possibility,” Snape says. “But…not impossible. Hm.” He thinks a little more, then shrugs. “I must admit that I am _painfully_ curious, Potter. And I will take this binding willingly. Tell me.”

Harry nods, and reaches out to lay a hand on Snape’s left arm, over the Mark. Harry can feel its magic even through the sleeve. “The secret I give you, carry to your grave,” he commands. “Reveal it never, on pain of death. Use it never, on pain of death. I so bind thee.”

Harry can feel the magic take root, a strengthening of the oath-bond, and Snape grunts a little but does not flinch. “What an odd sensation,” he says as the magic fades. “Very well; I am bound.”

“They’re bits of Tom’s soul,” Harry says bluntly. “They’re called Horcruxes. Tom makes them by killing someone – there’s a ritual involved, too, I think. But as long as a piece of his soul remains in the world, he cannot truly die.”

Snape stares at him in shock and horror. “Dear _Merlin_ ,” he breathes. “That…that is the foulest thing I think I have ever heard. And I spent my youth among _Death Eaters_ , Potter.”

Harry shrugs. “Yeah,” he says. “You see why we’re keeping it quiet.”

“I do,” Snape replies. “ _Merlin_. Never speak of this to any but those you have already trusted with it. And we _must_ resume our Occulumency lessons – indeed, your friends must learn as well. This is knowledge which must _never_ be revealed.”

Harry blinks. “How about you recommend some books on Occlumency so I can learn a little about it before we start the practical lessons,” he suggests. “Because Merlin knows those didn’t go well last time.”

“Fair,” Snape says. “There are several texts in the library here. I will find them for you. And in the meantime…I will have a look at the artifacts, and see what I can do.” He shudders a little. “Merlin. Though now I am disinclined to be near them. Nevertheless. If I can cleanse the Founders’ relics of that horror’s touch, I will.”

“Thank you,” Harry says quietly. “Tell me if you need anything.”

“I will,” Snape promises. Then he gives Harry a rather lopsided, very wry smile. “You know, Mr. Potter, I don’t believe either of my former Lords ever trusted me as you have.”

Harry shrugs. “I’m a fool of a Gryffindor,” he points out.

“So you are,” Snape agrees, but the insult sounds very nearly fond.


	11. Chapter 11

Harry finds Malfoy in the hallway, examining the warded cabinet. “Any luck?” he asks, and Malfoy jumps. “Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you.”

Malfoy blinks at him for a minute. “I was just…it’s very oddly made,” he says, sounding a little nervous. “I think I could do it better.”

“You did a good job on the Vanishing Cabinets,” Harry points out. “If you think you can make a better one of these, go for it. We’ll run it by Snape and Hermione before we use it, but I’m sure it will be fine.”

Malfoy looks gobsmacked, then cautiously hopeful. “It’ll take me a few days,” he says.

“I would expect so,” Harry replies. “Take what time you need. Snape is going to attempt to take the magic off the items, so we’ll be keeping them around for a while.”

“Alright,” Malfoy says. “I…I’ll do my best.”

“Thanks,” Harry says, and leaves the other boy to it.

*

The next morning, Harry is cornered by a rather flustered looking Ron, who pulls him aside after breakfast and then just paces the room for a while. Harry sits down and waits his friend out.

“You’re trusting the Slytherins with a lot,” Ron finally says, slumping down in a chair across from Harry.

“I…guess I am,” Harry admits. “But then, they’ve got skills we don’t. I mean, I can’t work with spells like Snape can, and I have no idea how to run a household – I can cook and clean, but that’s not everything – and Malfoy’s good with his hands. And you’re far better at strategy than I’ll ever be, and Hermione knows everything.”

“So she does,” Ron agrees with a grin. Then he sobers again. “But…they just showed up, and we’ve hated them for years, and you’re trusting them with the house and the Horcruxes and _everything_. With the Cloak and going with you to Hogwarts and raiding Gringotts.”

Harry sighs. “I don’t really have a choice, Ron,” he says wearily.

“I know,” Ron replies. “I understand _why_ you’re doing it. And I even agree. But…Harry, it’s like they’re taking over. Like you won’t be able to trust _us_ the same way as you do them. Because they’re bound to you, and we aren’t.”

“Ron – we’re _friends_. That’s a lot more valuable to me than the fealty bond! They only swore to me because the alternative was _death_. You chose me because you _liked_ me.”

“Yeah,” Ron agrees. “But if you needed to trust someone with a secret – to know they’d never tell – it’d be easier for you to tell one of _them_. Because they _can’t_ betray you.”

“Ron, I…” Harry trails off. Ron’s _right_ , is the problem.

“No, look, it’d even be the right decision,” Ron says. “You _can_ trust them, because the fealty oath makes them perfectly loyal. Not even Voldie could turn them now.” He takes a deep breath. “Which is why I want you to take _my_ oath, too.”

“ _What?_ ” Harry gasps. “What – Ron – fuck no! You’re my _friend_ , not my vassal!”

“Yeah, I figured you’d say that to start,” Ron admits. “But look, this way you’ll never have to worry about us betraying you. You’ll always be able to find us – and we’ll be able to find you – by the Marks. And…look, Harry.” He pauses and gathers his thoughts. Harry sits frozen, staring at his friend in horror. “I’m the sixth son, and my family is _not_ rich,” Ron says finally. “Hermione’s a Muggleborn. We want to get married someday, her and me, but it’ll be hard. I don’t have any prospects, not really, and it’s very hard for Muggleborns to get apprenticeships or good positions. It’s just the way the world works.”

Harry winces. “I…hadn’t thought about that.”

Ron nods. “But here’s the thing. If we’re vassals to a great Lord – and Harry, if we win this, you _will_ be a great Lord, you’ll have a lot of power in the Wizarding world, and you’re richer than Midas – if we’re your vassals, we’ll get a _lot_ more respect. Because you’ll have thought enough of us, a Muggleborn girl and a sixth son of a poor family, to accept us into your household. That would mean…people would think we were _important_. Valuable. They’d listen to us, because know _you_ listen to us.”

“Fuck my life,” Harry says quietly. “I – no, I can’t give you an answer now. If I did, it would be _hell no_ , because you’re my _friend_ , Ron, not my servant. You’re my equal. No. Go…go do something else for a while, and let me think. I can’t deal with this right now.”

“Alright, mate,” Ron says, and goes, clapping Harry gently on the shoulder as he leaves. Harry puts his head back and closes his eyes and just…sits, for a long time, wishing that life were otherwise.

*

He looks up again when Hermione comes in, quietly, and sits down in the chair Ron abandoned.

“You, too?” he asks quietly.

Hermione sighs. “I’ve been talking to Narcissa,” she admits. “She knows a _lot_ about how the Wizarding world works, the stuff they don’t tell us at Hogwarts. She’s being nice to me because she knows I’m your friend, and she wants to stay on your good side – I know that – but I think she might actually like me a bit.”

“She’s not as nasty as I always assumed Malfoy’s mother would be,” Harry agrees. “Though that’s probably because I saved Malfoy’s life.”

“She’s not a horrid person, I don’t think. Just…very pureblood,” Hermione says. “Anyway. She pointed me at some books, etiquette and such, and I’ve been reading up.”

“Of course you have,” Harry teases gently, and she wrinkles her nose at him.

“What I mean to say is, Ron’s right. I’m going to have a hard time doing much of anything in the Wizarding world. I don’t have a name, a pureblood pedigree, and even if I marry Ron, well, the Weasleys aren’t rich or powerful, so they can’t buy me a position. Which is a _stupid_ way of running a government, but I can’t _change_ it unless I’m already _in_ it.” 

Harry laughs. “True,” he concedes. “And you’d make a good Minister.”

“I would,” Hermione agrees. “But to get there, I need to start somewhere. And starting as the vassal of a well-respected, rich, powerful Lord – one who killed a great evil – well, it would give me sort of a head start.” She shrugs. “And I want you to know that I’m _loyal_ to you, Harry. Ron and I, we’ve messed up before, we’ve done things which hurt you. If you take our oaths, we won’t be able to do that anymore. We can disagree, we can argue, we can tell you how stupid you’re being – but we won’t be able to _hurt_ you, Harry.” She sighs. “I don’t want to be…to be a danger to you, even inadvertently.”

“Shit, Hermione,” Harry says weakly. “I don’t want to Mark you. You’re my _friend_.”

“And I will still be your friend if you take my oath,” Hermione retorts. “I will just be your friend who happens to also be your vassal.” Then, more softly, “Harry, if Snape and Malfoy had never come to you, I would never have thought of asking. But they did, and now that I know it’s an _option_ , that there’s a way for me to get a foothold in this _stupid_ hierarchy that the government has going…that there’s a way for me to be sure I _never_ hurt you again…Harry, don’t think of it as doing this _to_ me. Think of it as doing something _for_ me, giving me something that I want. That Ron wants, too. We want…we want the _right_ to stand beside you and say to anyone who wants to mess with you, ‘No. You’ll have to go through us.’ That’s…that’s the root of this, Harry. We want everyone to know that at the end of the day, we belong with you.”

“Fuck my life,” Harry says. It’s becoming his mantra, he thinks. He should be sitting on a peaceful mountaintop somewhere, crosslegged in an orange robe, chanting ‘Fuck my life’ until he achieves nirvana.

“Not today,” he says at last. “No, Hermione. Not today. I need to think about this. But…ah, shit, you and Ron have good arguments. So I’m not saying no. Just…not today.”

“That’s fair,” Hermione says, and pats him on the shoulder as she leaves.


	12. Chapter 12

Harry makes time the next day to pull Narcissa aside and ask her about etiquette in the Wizarding world. Narcissa, in her turn, is blankly appalled at the depth of his ignorance.

“Did no one teach you _anything_?” she demands.

Harry snorts. “I can cook a full meal, clean a house in three hours, and catch a Snitch,” he says. “And I suppose I’m not terrible at most of my classes. But no, no one taught me anything about how the Wizarding world actually _works_.”

“But – you are from an ancient and noble family! You are the head of two households, or will be when you come of age!” Narcissa is horrified. Harry can’t help but be a little amused.

“I’m just as likely to be dead by the end of the summer,” he points out.

“Unacceptable,” Narcissa declares. “You and young Miss Granger will come to me in the afternoons, and I will teach you what you need to know.”

“Barring disaster,” Harry agrees. The lessons will probably be very useful, actually, if he does survive. “I reserve the right to go save the world if I need to.”

To his surprise, Narcissa smiles at him. “If you insist, my Lord,” she says. “If you insist.”

*

Malfoy comes to find him three days later, as Harry is helping Kreacher prepare dinner. (Kreacher is rather annoyed that Young Master Harry is in his kitchen, but Harry finds that chopping vegetables helps him think, and he is still thinking about whether he should take Ron and Hermione’s oaths or not.)

“I think I’ve done it,” Malfoy says tentatively, and Harry puts his knife down – much to Kreacher’s evident relief – and follows Malfoy into the hallway. There is another cabinet, rather smaller, beside the first, and even from a distance Harry can tell that the second cabinet is at _least_ as well warded as the original. It fairly gleams with protective enchantments.

“Good job,” he tells Malfoy, who looks like he’s just been given the House Cup. “Let’s get Snape to test it, and then we can put the diadem there,” Harry adds. “Thanks.”

Malfoy beams and hurries off to find Snape. Harry shrugs. Malfoy acting strange is really about par for the course.

*

The next morning, Harry stares at the Cup and the diadem in their respective cabinets for a while, and then he takes a deep breath and heads for the library, where Ron and Hermione are curled up on a couch together, each poring over a book. Hermione’s is about the Founders – she is obviously hoping to come across something which might be the last Horcrux – and Ron’s, surprisingly enough, is a Muggle paperback. Harry catches Ron’s eye and raises an eyebrow. Ron grins and lifts the book to show Harry the cover: _The Art of War_ , by Sun Tzu.

“Seemed appropriate,” Ron says, and Harry chuckles.

“Good thinking,” he agrees. “Anything useful?”

“Lots, actually,” Ron says. “It’s giving me a fair number of ideas.”

“Good,” Harry says, and sinks into an armchair with a long sigh. “Question for you both.”

Hermione puts down her book and looks at him attentively. Ron makes a go-on gesture with one hand.

“Do you still want to swear fealty oaths to me?”

Ron and Hermione glance at each other, then nod. “Yeah, mate,” Ron says quietly. “We haven’t changed our minds.”

“Then…then if you’re sure.” Harry takes a deep breath. “I’ll accept them.”

Ron whoops. Hermione beams. “Now?” she asks. Harry nods.

“If you’re sure, then yes.”

Ron and Hermione both get off the couch and sink to their knees in front of him. “Warrior’s oath, mate,” Ron says, and Harry draws his wand and holds the hilt out for them to grasp.

Ron takes it first. “I, Ronald Bilius Weasley, promise on my power that I will to Lord Harry James Potter be faithful and true of life and limb and earthly honors; against every creature, living or dead, I shall defend him with wand and will; and I shall love all that he loves, and shun all that he shuns; and never, by will nor by force, by word nor by work do aught of what is loathful to him on condition that he keep me as I am willing to deserve.”

Hermione, next to him, lays her own hand on the hilt. “I, Hermione Jane Granger, promise on my power that I will to Lord Harry James Potter be faithful and true of life and limb and earthly honors; against every creature, living or dead, I shall defend him with wand and will; and I shall love all that he loves, and shun all that he shuns; and never, by will nor by force, by word nor by work do aught of what is loathful to him on condition that he keep me as I am willing to deserve.”

Harry takes a deep breath. “It is right,” he says, and feels the magic crest around him, “that those who offer to us unbroken fidelity should be protected by our aid. Be it known to all persons, present and future, that we have received our beloved Ronald Bilius Weasley and Hermione Jane Granger as our liege man and woman, and will hold them against every creature, living or dead, and will return to them the loyalty they have promised, and keep them as they deserve.”

The Marks on their arms shine like stars, and Harry feels them settle into his magic, into his soul, as though they have always been meant to be there. The bond between them feels warm in a way the bonds to his other vassals never have, and Harry relaxes a little. Maybe this isn’t actually a horrible idea.

Ron and Hermione stand, and Ron claps Harry on the shoulder. “Thanks, mate,” he says, then grins broadly. “Lord mate? Lord Harry? Harry Lord mate?” 

Harry drops his head into his hands. “Fuck my life,” he mutters, and can’t help grinning when Hermione giggles.

“ _Our_ Harry,” Hermione says, and Harry lifts his head to smile at them both. This bond, at least, really does go both ways. He is theirs, just as much as they are his.


	13. Chapter 13

“I have no idea what the last item is, or where the locket is,” Hermione says with some exasperation, thunking her latest book down on the table. “I am going to go yell at Mrs. Black until I feel better.”

Harry watches her go warily, noticing that Malfoy flinches a little as she passes him. Well, the last time Malfoy saw Hermione this angry, she broke his nose. Narcissa sighs. “Is there _any_ clue as to where the locket might be?” she inquires.

“Well,” Harry says, “there was a note in the false one. Let me go find it.”

He’s been keeping it inside the false locket – easier to remember where it is – and he takes a moment to black out the word ‘Horcrux’ before he brings it back into the kitchen and hands it to Narcissa. “Sorry – the word I covered is kind of a secret. But it shouldn’t matter much.”

Narcissa looks down at the handwritten note and gasps, hand coming up to cover her mouth. “This – you found this in the false locket?”

Harry blinks. “Yes?”

“This is…I haven’t seen his handwriting in years. Oh, cousin, you were wiser than we were…” Narcissa murmurs. “This is Regulus’ hand.”

“Regulus Black?” Harry asks. “Sirius’ brother?”

“Yes. My favorite cousin. He was…he died, and we all thought it was an accident, but oh, he must have been found out…he must have been acting against the Dark Lord. Oh, cousin.”

“Er,” says Harry awkwardly. “I’m sorry.”

“No – now I know that he died for a reason,” Narcissa says quietly. “And I have an idea. Kreacher!”

“Mistress Black Malfoy calls?” Kreacher says, appearing next to her. Narcissa shows him the note.

“Kreacher, do you know anything about this?”

Kreacher scowls. “Master Regulus said not to tell.”

Harry crouches down beside the house elf. “Master Regulus must have been a very brave man,” he says quietly. “Very cunning, too. A credit to the House of Black.”

“Yes,” Kreacher says, eyeing Harry dubiously. “Master Regulus was a good master.”

“This note says that he wanted to destroy the thing he took from the cave,” Harry says. “Do you know if he did?”

Kreacher scowls even more darkly. “Kreacher will not betray Master Regulus.”

“I don’t want you to betray him,” Harry says. “I want to finish what he gave his life to do. If he didn’t manage to destroy the locket, I want to do it. I want to honor him, Kreacher, by doing what he wanted to do.”

Kreacher thinks about this. “Master Regulus did not destroy it,” he says, finally. “It is not here.”

“Can you find it?” Harry asks. Kreacher nods.

“Kreacher will find it. Kreacher will bring it to Master Harry. Master Harry will destroy it. Master Regulus will be happy.”

“Yes,” Harry agrees. “I will destroy it for Regulus.”

Kreacher vanishes, and Harry sits down on the floor and stares up at Narcissa. “Well,” he says after a moment. “That was…a thing that happened.”

Ron offers him a hand up. “Good show, mate,” he says. “Want me to go tell Hermione we’ve got a lead?”

From down the hall by the entrance way comes a shrill shrieking tirade. “And what’s more, you harridan, if you think your blood is so much better than mine, you can explain to me why precisely your precious purebloods have the birthrate of inbred Spanish royalty!”

Harry grins at Ron. “Well, you can interrupt her if you really _want_ to…”

“On second thought, maybe I’ll just stay here,” Ron says.

“Very strategic of you,” Harry agrees solemnly. 

*

Kreacher returns before dinnertime, clutching the locket tightly in one hand. Harry considers for a moment, then says, “Snape? Have you made any progress on that research I asked you to do?”

Snape grimaces. “I…might have something, actually. But I am not entirely sure.”

“Well, I think now would be a good time to test it,” Harry says. “Because if it doesn’t work, I’m going to put a basilisk fang through that thing, and then Regulus will be able to rest easy in his grave.”

Snape nods. “The basement would be the wisest place to attempt this,” he says. “What would you like to use as the new…receptacle?”

“Um,” Harry says. “Something I can stab? Maybe a block of wood – then we can burn it afterwards.”

“A wise precaution,” Snape says, and ducks down the hall and out into the overgrown garden, returning a few moments later with an assortment of small pieces of wood. “Shall we?”

All of them end up down in the basement. Kreacher stands off to one side, holding the locket tightly in one hand, as Snape wards the basement to within an inch of its life, and Malfoy lays out the basilisk fang and the chosen piece of wood with an odd sort of reverence. Ron and Hermione watch with interest: neither has seen a Horcrux destroyed as yet.  
Harry is just hoping that a version of Tom doesn’t come out of the Horcrux when he stabs it. That would be…really unpleasant.

“Very well,” Snape says eventually, apparently satisfied with his wards. “Kreacher, please put the locket down beside the wood. I will attempt to transfer the…enchantment…from one to the other.”

“And if it doesn’t work, I’ll stab the shit out of the locket,” Harry says. “The rest of you – wands out. This might go badly. Have shields ready.”

“Yes, my Lord,” Narcissa says softly, and takes up a dueling stance. Ron and Hermione and Malfoy mirror her.

“Go for it,” Harry tells Snape, who nods and begins to chant.

A cloud of black smoke rises from the locket. Harry keeps a wary eye on it, wand in one hand and basilisk fang in the other. Kreacher hisses in anger beside him.

The cloud forms a shadowy figure. Harry tenses. This is going to go _so badly_ , he can just see it coming…

And then the cloud dissolves and sinks down into the piece of wood. Harry, astonished and delighted, brings the fang down into the newly-created Horcrux, which _screams_.

The sound is horrible. It cuts through Harry’s ears like a knife. He drops the fang and his wand and clutches his hands over his ears, choking out his own scream at the pain, and then, abruptly, it is done – the wood is nothing but wood, the locket nothing but a locket, and the scream gone as though it had never been.

Harry lowers his hands and winces. “Ow,” he says.

Snape says something. Harry sees his mouth move. But Harry does not hear a thing.

“Shit,” he says, and Snape raises an eyebrow. “I can’t hear.”

Snape says something else, probably something unpleasant. But Harry is suddenly not feeling well at all, and before Snape can properly tear into him, he feels the world go strange around him, and the entire scene fades to black before his eyes.


	14. Chapter 14

Harry wakes up in his own bed in Grimmauld Place, which is good. And he can hear someone talking outside of his bedroom, which is better. On the downside, he feels like he went three rounds with a troll, and lost.

He twitches, and to his utter horrified surprise, Malfoy’s voice comes from off to the side. “Thank Merlin, you’re awake!”

Harry turns his head – and winces at how much that hurts – to see Malfoy ensconced in the armchair beside his bed. The other boy looks rather like he hasn’t slept in several days, but he’s smiling. Harry blinks at him.

“How long…?” he asks, and regrets speaking. His throat is sore, and every muscle in his body aches.

“Three days,” Malfoy says. “I’ll go tell everyone you’re awake.” He runs out the door before Harry can reply, not that he knows what to say. Three days? Damn, he missed his birthday.

A few minutes later, everyone is crowding into the room, even Kreacher, who is – rather to Harry’s surprise – wearing the locket about his neck and carrying a tea tray. “Master Harry should drink tea,” Kreacher says, plumping the pillows as Ron helps Harry sit up. “Master Harry must get better. Master Harry has done Master Regulus proud.” He pats Harry on the knee, puts the tea tray on his lap, and bustles out again. Harry blinks at the teapot.

Hermione pours him a cup of tea. Narcissa casts a diagnostic spell on him. Snape scowls at him and thrusts a vial of painkiller potion into his hand. Malfoy fusses at the sheets. Ron sits beside him and lends a shoulder to help him stay upright.

Harry feels rather overwhelmingly loved.

*

“So,” he says to Snape some hours later, over sandwiches and a nutrient potion, “next time we should do something about that horrid noise.”

Snape glowers. “Indeed we should,” he says. “It affected you most strongly – the rest of us were merely discommoded. Therefore we should ward you, especially against sound. Having you incapacitated for days is not acceptable.”

“On the plus side,” Harry says, “it all appears to have worked.”

Snape’s glower gets worse. “I find I must repeat to you your own sentiment,” he says. “You are not expendable, Mr. Potter. You must have a care for your own safety.”

Harry shrugs. “I shall die at Tom’s hands or not at all, you know.”

Snape slaps his hand down on the table, startling Harry badly. “You are _not_ to take foolish risks with your life! You are _important_ , you foolish creature; how do you think we all would feel if our Lord – the only Lord who has ever been good to us – should die of some idiotic stunt while we all stood by and gawped like yokels? What we _can_ do to protect you, you must allow us to do! We are your vassals, sworn to your protection, and it is our honor and our privilege to _guard you from all harm_!”

Harry blinks at him. “Er,” he says faintly. “I…didn’t think of that. I’m sorry.”

Snape deflates a little. “You have never been convinced of your own value,” he grumbles. “Your friends have told me something of your earlier adventures. You risk everything for others, and nothing for yourself. That must change. If you must think only of others, think of this: we are your vassals, and without you, we should all be in grave danger. To protect _us_ , you must protect yourself.”

“I’ll do my best,” Harry promises. “I didn’t mean to worry you. I’ll be more careful next time.”

“See that you do,” Snape mutters. “Or I shall be _most_ irritated with you, my Lord.”

*

“We’ve been putting off transferring the other Horcruxes until you woke up,” Hermione tells him. “But Snape checked the locket over and said it was harmless now, so Kreacher can wear it with no ill effects. It seems to make him very happy.”

“Well, it’s a memento of his favorite Master,” Harry points out. “I guess it’s like…like my Cloak, or something. A reminder of family.”

“In any case,” Ron says, “that’s four down, or is it five? Diary – you got that in second year. Ring – Dumbledore got it. Locket – took care of _that_. Cup and diadem just waiting to be cleansed. Snake – well, we’ll get to that somehow. And something else.”

“Hermione, I was wondering: could you and Snape work together to create a sort of Point-Me for Horcruxes?” Harry asks. “You could use the two we’ve got downstairs as samples.”

Hermione considers it. “That’s not a bad idea at all,” she says. “I’ll go talk to Snape about it.”

“Thanks,” Harry calls after her, and slumps back against his pillows. He’s still not completely recovered.

“Chess?” Ron asks. Harry sticks out his tongue.

“You just want to see how fast you can beat me,” he says.

“Well, yeah,” Ron admits, and Harry has to laugh.


	15. Chapter 15

“Harry,” Hermione says over dinner a few days later, “are we going to go to Hogwarts in the fall?”

Harry stares at her for a moment. “You know,” he says, “I had not even thought about it. Shit.”

Malfoy clears his throat. “I don’t think I can go back,” he says. “Enough of the other students will know that I was…meant to be killed. I don’t think I’d survive a week.”

“We could ask McGonagall about protective measures,” Harry says. “But somehow I suspect you’re right. And for that matter, I’m not sure how safe _I’ll_ be – or you and Ron, Hermione, since you’ve got my Mark and everyone knows you’re my best friends anyhow.”

“But,” says Hermione plaintively, “ _school_!”

Harry opens his mouth to reply, then pauses, thinking hard. “Hang on,” he says slowly. “I have a bit of an idea…”

*

“Home tutoring, Mr. Potter?” McGonagall asks skeptically. Harry spreads his hands.

“Ron, Hermione, Malfoy and I will be in danger if we return to Hogwarts, and we will put the other students in danger, too. You told me there were already attacks on the wards; Tom will go absolutely _batshit_ if he knows I’m actually here. But if he knows I’m _not_ here – if we leak to the papers that I’m being taught somewhere else for the year – he might decide to leave you alone while he hunts for me.”

McGonagall hums thoughtfully. “Go on, then. Who do you plan to have as tutors?”

“Snape, of course,” Harry replies instantly. “For Potions and Occlumency. Mrs. Malfoy says she was quite good at Charms and Runes. I was thinking I’d get in touch with Remus and ask if he could teach Defense. And if you could find the time to come over once a week, we’d be honored if you could teach us Transfiguration.”

“No extracurriculars?” McGonagall asks.

“Defeating Voldemort 101,” Harry says wryly. “And I expect we could get a pretty good scratch Quidditch game going. Hermione can referee.” He sighs. “And if we _do_ manage to get rid of Tom before the year is out, of course we’d like to come back. But I don’t want to put the school in danger, Professor, and – no offense – Tom isn’t nearly as scared of you as he was of the Headmaster.”

“Perhaps he should be,” McGonagall says thoughtfully . “But you are, unfortunately, correct, Mr. Potter.” She sighs. “I do not want to tell you not to come to Hogwarts. It is your home; it is a sanctuary. You should be safe here. You should be _welcome_ here.”

“But it is not safe,” Harry says calmly. “Professor, I _know_ how dangerous it will be if I am here. The older students can defend themselves, but the younger ones – they’d be in terrible danger if there was an attack. I can’t have another death on my conscience, Professor. Cedric, Sirius…even my parents died because I was there. I will _not_ let another innocent life be taken if I can prevent it.”

McGonagall, somewhat to Harry’s surprise, comes out from behind the desk and hugs him hard. “You are a credit to our House,” she says. “You will _always_ be welcome at Hogwarts. And I will be honored beyond words to teach you, either here or in your own home, this coming year.”

“Thank you, Professor,” Harry says awkwardly. “I hope that someday soon I will be able to come home.”

*

Harry Flooes into Grimmauld Place and stops on the hearth, looking around. He hasn’t left the house for a while, and now, after only a few hours at Hogwarts, he finds himself looking at it with new eyes. It looks…a lot better than it did at the beginning of the summer, actually, and Harry knows that _he_ hasn’t been doing any upkeep.

Hermione looks up from her book and smiles at him. Harry smiles back. “Hey, Hermione,” he says. “Have you been fixing things?”

“Nope,” Hermione says. “Malfoy’s been going around fixing everything he can find. Warding it, too – I’ve got soundproofing on my rooms, now, and the stairs have anti-tripping charms.”

Harry raises an eyebrow at her. “Do you _need_ soundproofing on your rooms?”

“Augh, not for _that_!” she cries. “It’s just nice not to wake up every time someone steps on the squeaky board in the hall!”

Harry grins. “Well, alright then, if you say so,” he says. “Huh. I didn’t know this place could look this good.”

Hermione looks around, taking a moment to actually see the changes. “Yeah,” she says slowly. “He’s done a lot.”

“I’d better tell him so,” Harry resolves.

“But what did Professor McGongall _say_?” Hermione demands.

“Oh – she agreed,” Harry says, a little sadly. “I’m going to go write to Remus. And she’ll be coming to give us Transfiguration lessons Tuesdays and Thursdays, between ten and twelve.”

“Oh good!” Hermione exclaims. “I’ll make us up a schedule, shall I?”

“You do that,” Harry agrees with some amusement. “Remember to build in sleep, now.”

“Oh, for – I forgot _once_ ,” Hermione grumbles, and Harry leaves her digging colored ink out of her bag.


	16. Chapter 16

“Hermione said you’d been repairing and rewarding everything,” Harry says to Malfoy as they clear the table that evening.

“Yes,” Malfoy says a little nervously, as if not sure he’s done the right thing.

“Thanks,” Harry says. “That was something I really should have thought of, and didn’t. I’m glad you did.”

Malfoy lights up. “I’m…glad you’re pleased,” he says. “My Lord.”

Harry doesn’t quite know what to do, so he pats Malfoy awkwardly on the shoulder and says, “Keep up the good work.” Then he makes his escape, slightly worried by the broad smile on Malfoy’s pointy face. It isn’t natural for a Malfoy to smile at a Potter.

*

Remus arrives the next morning. The Slytherins are all out of sight – Narcissa and Snape in the refurbished Potions lab in the basement, Malfoy in the library with Hermione, helping to reorganize the books. Ron is visiting his family.

“I was surprised to hear you were staying here, Harry,” Remus says as Harry hands him a cup of tea. They are in the sitting room – it seems the safest place to have this conversation.

“I could not stay with the Dursleys any longer,” Harry says. “And I have been making good progress on the task Dumbledore gave me before he died.”

“Which is?” Remus inquires. Harry shakes his head.

“I am looking for things which must be destroyed in order to defeat Voldemort,” he says. “I can’t really tell you anything else about it – Dumbledore’s orders.”

“Well. Alright,” Remus says. “If not about that, why did you need to see me?”

“Hogwarts isn’t safe for me until Voldemort is dead,” Harry explains. “Or for anyone else, if I’m there. So I got Professor McGonagall’s permission to be homeschooled for the semester or the year, depending on how long it takes me to get rid of that evil bastard. I was wondering if you’d be willing to tutor me in Defense.” He raises a hand before Remus can say anything. “But there’s…some complications.”

“Oh?” Remus inquires.

“It won’t just be me,” Harry says.

“Ron and Hermione, I assume?”

“Yes,” Harry agrees. “And Draco Malfoy.”

Remus sits up straight, nearly spilling his tea. “What?”

“Okay, let me just tell you the whole story, and then you can yell at me,” Harry says, and scrubs a hand across his face. “About a month and a half ago, Snape and Malfoy showed up, tortured almost to death. Tom had discovered they were traitors – or, well, he thought Malfoy was a traitor even though he wasn’t, and then Snape tried to defend him, so he thought Snape was a traitor, which it turns out he _was_ , only not because of Malfoy.”

“That…did not make as much sense as you thought it did,” Remus says slowly.

“Snape was Dumbledore’s man,” Harry says. “It’s a long story and mostly his to tell. But the end of it is that I took them both in, and then I helped rescue Mrs. Malfoy from where her crazy sister was holding her captive. So now I have three Slytherins under my protection.”

“And how do you know they’re not planning to betray you?” Remus asks, jaw tight.

“Well,” Harry says, a little nervously, “they’ve all sworn fealty oaths to me, and bear my Mark.”

Remus gapes. “They… _what_?”

“The Dark Mark was killing Snape and Malfoy, and the only way to get it off was to have a _real_ fealty mark – Voldemort’s isn’t really done right – and so I took their oaths. It was kind of a spur of the moment decision. But they’ve been helping me, and they _can’t_ betray me. It’d kill them.”

“That’s…a little problematic,” Remus says quietly.

“Yes, I know,” Harry agrees. “But it was the only way. And, um, Mrs. Malfoy and Ron and Hermione all swore to me too. I…Mrs. Malfoy said she owed me a debt for her son’s life, and that it wasn’t dishonorable, and Ron and Hermione said being my vassals would help them get good jobs when this was all over, because they’re not rich or from really important families, and all the good jobs would go to, like, Malfoys, but because they’re my vassals they’ll get good jobs too.” He spreads his hands. “And this way they can’t be forced to betray me. Which…is actually kind of a thing we have to worry about, unfortunately.”

Remus bows his head. “You…are sadly right about that, Harry,” he says softly. “Perhaps if James had done something similar…well. No use dwelling on that, I suppose.” He raises his head and smiles a little weakly. “So I would have four students, then?”

“Yes,” Harry says. “Though I’d prefer you not mention Malfoy.”

“I won’t,” Remus promises. “I know how to keep a secret.”

“Yes,” Harry says. “I know.”

*

“I think,” Hermione says, “Snape and I have managed to put together a Horcrux-finding spell.”

“Marvelous!” Harry whoops. “Let’s test it – I want this _over_ with!”

They bring the cup and the diadem down to the basement, and while Ron and Harry and Snape watch, Hermione closes her eyes and intones solemnly, “Invenira praesegmen anima Tom Marvolo Riddle.”

The wand in her hand turns slowly, of its own volition, until it is pointing at the cup, the nearest of the Horcruxes. She opens her eyes and grins. “It points at the nearest one that isn’t behind wards,” she explains. “But if we stick the cup and the diadem back in the cabinets, and try it again, it’ll give us a direction on either the snake or the last item – we hope.”

“Then we’ll do that,” Harry says. “Wonderful job, you two.”

Once the cup and the diadem are safely behind wards again, Harry watches eagerly as Hermione and Snape walk to opposite ends of the basement and each intone the spell. They are hoping, Hermione has explained, that they’ll be able to triangulate a little bit, though probably not from within the short confines of the basement.

Both wands turn in their wielder’s hands to point directly at Harry. Harry goes white.

Hermione opens her eyes and takes in the tableau. “What – what in Merlin’s name?” she gasps.

Snape frowns. “Come into the center of the room, Mr. Potter,” he says. Harry does, the wands turning to follow him. “Mr. Weasley – please cast the same spell we are using.”

Ron gulps and draws his wand. “ _Invenira praesegen anima Tom Riddle_ ,” he chants, and his wand turns in his hand to aim straight at Harry’s head.

“What the everloving fuck,” Harry says.

“Oh Merlin, Harry,” Hermione breathes. “Your _scar_.”


	17. Chapter 17

“Yes,” Snape says, some time later. “I think that Miss Granger is correct. Your scar contains a fragment of the Dark Lord’s soul.”..

“Well, that is, frankly, the most disgusting thing I’ve heard in…ever,” Harry says. “Fuck my _life_. I…I need to go have a Butterbeer and not talk to anyone for a while. You and Hermione can talk about whether you think you can get it the hell _out_ of my head. But please leave me alone for a bit.”

“As you command, my Lord,” Snape says solemnly. “But – Potter. You are not him. I have served the Dark Lord, Potter, and I can tell you with perfect certainty that you are not, and never will be, him.”

Harry nods. “Thanks,” he says quietly. “I…needed to hear that. And now I am going to have that Butterbeer.”

“Go. I will see to it that no one disturbs you,” Snape says. Harry goes.

*

“Harry,” Hermione says quietly from the garden door, some hours later.

Harry does not turn around. He is watching the sky, his back to the house, and trying not to think about anything.

“Harry – we think we can remove it,” Hermione says. “We’re pretty sure, anyhow.”

Harry sighs and turns around. “There are some things we need to do first,” he says. “Get everyone together, please.”

Once they are all in the kitchen, with cups of tea courtesy of Kreacher, he looks at Malfoy and Narcissa, the only ones who don’t understand what’s at stake. “We’re going to destroy the magic on the cup and the diadem,” he says. “We’ll transfer it into wood blocks first, and I’ll use hearing protection this time. And then Snape and Hermione are going to take an enchantment off of _me_ and put it into a block of wood. I need the two of you to keep the wards steady, please.”

“We will do that, my Lord,” Narcissa says quietly. “They will not fall.”

“Thank you,” Harry says. “Ron.”

“Yeah, mate?”

“If this doesn’t work…if it goes as wrong as it can possibly go…I need you to be ready to Stun me. Or, if it becomes necessary, incapacitate me in whatever way seems best to you.”

“Harry,” Ron says softly. “I…”

“Please, Ron,” Harry says. “I know you can’t hurt me, but you can knock me out and keep me from hurting anyone _else_. And if it helps, I command you to do so should it become necessary.”

“Alright, mate,” Ron says. “I’ll keep you safe. Whatever it takes.”

“Thank you,” Harry says. “Now. We are all tired and not at our best. We will do this tomorrow morning. And with any luck, we won’t all be dead by tomorrow night.”

“Cheerful, mate,” Ron says with a crooked smile. “You’re nearly as good at inspiring speeches as Oliver was.”

Harry cannot help the laugh which escapes him.

*

The first part of the day goes precisely as planned. Harry, wearing earmuffs which block out all sound, waits while Snape transfers the Horcruxes from the cup and the diadem into chunks of wood, then stabs each piece of wood with his trusty basilisk fang. The dying Horcruxes do scream, but Harry is safe behind his earmuffs, and his vassals are sheltered behind strong wards.

“Five down,” he says triumphantly once the Horcruxes are dead and he can take off the earmuffs. “Diary, ring, locket, cup, diadem. Just two left.”

“Yeah, mate, but one of them’s _you_ ,” Ron mutters.

“Details,” Harry says, trying very hard to sound upbeat. “Snape’s got the transfer spell _down_. We’ve got it under control.”

“Gryffindors,” Snape sighs. “Optimistic fools, the lot of them.”

“Ah, but I am depending on Slytherin cunning,” Harry points out. “And Slytherin pride, and Slytherin loyalty. I should think that I’m as safe as houses.”

“Slytherin loyalty?” Snape says, raising an eyebrow at Harry.

“Slytherin loyalty,” Harry says stoutly. “Gryffindors are loyal to their friends, Ravenclaws to their principles, Hufflepuffs to their hearts. But Slytherins are loyal to their oaths, and therefore I am not afraid.”

“Foolish Gryffindor,” Snape says, but there’s no bite to it. “Lie down.”

Harry does. It seemed like the best idea to all of them – no one knows how much this is going to hurt, though they all suspect it won’t be pleasant, and there’s no point in Harry falling down onto the stone floor when he can just lie down on a Transfigured mattress instead. Harry takes a deep breath and looks up into Snape’s unfathomable dark eyes and Hermione’s worried brown ones, and says, “Do it.”

“Yes, my Lord,” Snape says quietly, and begins to chant.

*

It hurts. It hurts worse than breaking his arm, worse than regrowing all the bones in his arm, worse than Wormtail taking his blood, worse than Umbridge’s blood quill, worse than the fire in his hands when he killed Quirrell. It burns down into his very _soul_ , and Harry bites his lip through and then he cannot stop himself from screaming. Snape winces – Harry can see the Mark on his arm burning as he inflicts pain upon his Lord – but he does not stop chanting, and the pain goes on and on and on.

And then it stops, as a black cloud rises above Harry’s face, and Snape’s expression smooths out, his Mark stops glowing, and he and Hermione between them guide the cloud to the wooden block which is waiting for it and spell it in.

“Ron,” Harry croaks through bloody lips. “Earmuffs. Stab.”

“Aye, mate,” Ron says, and puts the earmuffs on. Hermione puts up a ward between the block and Harry, and Ron, with a deep breath, slams the basilisk fang down into the wooden Horcrux.

The scream is faint, behind the wards, and Ron doesn’t even wince. They are good earmuffs, and Harry resolves to thank Malfoy again for bespelling them. It’s good work.

And then, finally, as the penultimate Horcrux dies, he passes out.


	18. Chapter 18

When he wakes up, all of his vassals and Remus are sitting around his bed. Ron and Snape are playing chess. Malfoy and Hermione are debating house elf rights. Narcissa and Remus are discussing lesson plans. The resulting din is both quite loud and remarkably surreal. Harry lifts a hand and rubs his face, realizing that his lip has been healed. “Why are you all in here?” he says, and has the mild satisfaction of hearing all of them shut up at once.

“We were worried about you, Harry,” Hermione scolds. “That’s the second time you’ve passed out in two weeks!”

“So…you decided to wake me up by arguing?” Harry asks. Ron comes around to help him sit up. “I mean, it worked, but…”

“ _Harry_ ,” Hermione says. “It wasn’t…oh, nevermind!” She leans across the bed to wrap him up in a warm hug. “I’m glad you’re awake.”

“Same,” Harry admits. Then he looks over at Snape, who meets his eyes evenly. “Thank you, Snape,” he says quietly. “I’m sorry that the Mark hurt you; but thank you for doing that for me.”

“You are welcome, my Lord,” Snape replies, just as quietly. “It was not as painful as I had anticipated, actually. I suspect the fealty bond recognized that you _wanted_ me to be performing the spell, and did not punish me as harshly as it might otherwise have done.”

“Still,” Harry says. “Thank you. And thank you, Malfoy, for those earmuffs. They were perfect.”

Malfoy goes pink about the ears. Harry still isn’t sure what’s up with that.

“How are you feeling, Harry?” Remus inquires. “You were out for a full day this time.”

“I feel…” Harry says, and stops and thinks about it. “I feel quite odd,” he says after a moment. “ _Accio_ wand.”

His wand _slaps_ into his hand, much harder than he meant it to. He blinks at it, then flicks it at a quill on his desk. “ _Wingardium leviosa_ ,” he says, with a sideways grin at Hermione. The feather hits the ceiling point-first and imbeds itself.

Everyone stares at the feather. “Um,” says Harry. “I feel quite a lot more powerful, now. I think I am going to need to learn control.”

Snape eyes him thoughtfully. “Draco, Narcissa, I am sure our Lord would like some breakfast,” he says. “Lupin, would you be so good as to go see if there are any books on useful exercises in the library?”

The three so named troop out, giving Snape slightly dubious looks, and Snape closes the door behind them and wards it to silence.

“It occurs to me,” he says, turning back to the remaining trio, “that Mr. Potter has not shown any signs of my former Lord’s personality, in the time I have known him. And it would have been quite noticeable – a very strong change from his normal behavior.”

Hermione nods. “Harry has _never_ been anything like the Dark Lord,” she asserts. “At all!”

Snape inclines his head to her. “As Miss Granger says. I must thus theorize that the fragment of the Dark Lord’s soul did not affect him in any significant manner. Yet how could this be possible?” He looks at them expectantly, entirely in teaching mode.

Ron looks like he wants to raise his hand. “Something kept it from doing so?” he asks.

“Quite, Mr. Weasley. And now that it is gone, my Lord has undergone a drastic and impressive increase in his magical power.”

“ _Harry_ was keeping it under control,” Hermione says. “Harry, your power must have been containing it somehow – constantly fighting against it!”

“Indeed, that would be my conclusion as well, Miss Granger,” Snape says, giving her an approving little nod.

Harry considers this. It makes a certain sort of sense.

“I wonder if I can still speak Parseltongue?” he says. “Dumbledore told me it was an effect of Voldemort transferring some of his powers to me – which I now assume means transferring some of his _soul_ to me, _Merlin_ that’s disgusting – but if I was subconsciously keeping Voldemort _out_ of my head, then maybe the Parseltongue is just a weird inheritance.”

Snape raises an eyebrow. “That is easy enough to test,” he observes. “ _Serpensortia_.”

The grass snake that lands on the foot of Harry’s bed looks confused and unhappy, but not actively bitey – and in any case is completely harmless. Snape is, Harry knows, quite good enough to have deliberately summoned something which, even if Harry can no longer control it, will pose no threat to anyone.

And, indeed, when Harry says, “Be calm,” Ron shakes his head.

“English, mate,” he says, and Harry sighs.

“Oh well,” he says. “At least we got the Chamber of Secrets out of the way before I lost the knack.”

Snape banishes the grass snake back to wherever it came from, and Harry grins. “The good news is, if I can’t speak Parseltongue anymore, I probably don’t have a mental connection to Tom’s brain anymore either. And even if I got a lot of useful information from that, I am _really glad_ not to have that evil bastard sending me visions of torture anymore.”

“Oh!” Hermione says. “No more visions! Thank goodness!”

“Pretty much,” Harry agrees. “So. Breakfast?”


	19. Chapter 19

After breakfast, Harry and Remus and Snape sit down with the books Remus found, and Harry runs through some of the basic exercises. They are all _much_ easier than they would have been before the Horcrux was taken out of him. Harry accidentally puts a book through a wall, and they decide to call that a good stopping place. Malfoy, passing the room, sticks his head through the hole and says, “Potter, if you wanted me to repaint the wall, there are easier ways of asking.”

Harry surprises himself by laughing. “Sorry, Malfoy,” he says. “Um – back up – _Reparo_.”

The hole closes up as though it had never happened. Malfoy squeaks. “Still not repainting the wall!” he shouts through it, and Harry goes over to open the door, still chortling.

“I’d honestly prefer you see if there’s a way to get Mrs. Black’s painting down,” he tells his vassal. “And I’ll try not to ruin any more of your nicely repaired walls.”

“Why thank you, my Lord,” Malfoy grins, and heads off on whatever errand he was running originally.

Harry turns back to see Remus giving him an odd look. “They tease you about it,” he says quietly.

“I’m glad,” Harry tells him quite honestly. “If they started treating me like I really _was_ a…a properly lord-y Lord, I’d probably need a padded room in St. Mungo’s. Because as long as they’re teasing me, I know they’re not _scared_ of me.”

Snape nods at him. “Indeed, what his vassals feel for Lord Potter does not, I believe, include fear,” he drawls.

“Good,” Harry says. “Let’s keep it that way.”

Snape shakes his head. “You are a very strange Lord,” he says.

“Yes, well, I’ve been called worse,” Harry replies. “By you, in fact. Lunch?”

“Indeed.”

*

“If you’re going to be teaching us,” Harry says to Remus over lunch, “would you like to stay here? Malfoy and Mrs. Malfoy have been doing a really good job getting the house fit for living in, and there are plenty of bedrooms. And we could modify the basement to keep you in on full moons – we don’t need it for, um, experiments anymore.”

Remus thinks about it. “I suppose I should,” he admits. “I’ve been renting a place, but it doesn’t have a good place to confine the wolf, and I’ve been having to use the Shrieking Shack again.”

“That’s awful!” Hermione says. “You should _definitely_ come stay with us.”

“I will provide the Wolfsbane potion,” Snape says. “And ensure that you drink it.”

Remus bows his head a little. “Thank you, Severus.”

Harry thinks that he could probably take umbrage at the clear implication that Snape does not trust Remus – but he remembers Snape stepping between a werewolf and three students he hated, and only says, “Thank you, Snape.”

The baffled look he gets from Snape is slightly comforting.

*

When McGonagall comes for their first lesson, she brings letters with her: one for Ron from Ginny, one for Hermione from Luna, and one for Harry from Neville . They all thank her, and after the lesson Harry retreats into his bedroom to read his.

_Dear Harry,_ Neville writes,

_McGonagall said she could get this to you, but that perhaps sending an owl would not be wise. She said you might have another option than an owl – no idea what that means, mate._

_We all miss you. Are you going to be gone all year? What happened that you can’t come to Hogwarts anymore?_

_The new firsties think you’re some sort of legend, and the Quidditch team are all bemoaning the loss of their Seeker._

_Be safe._

_-Neville._

Harry blinks at it for a minute, then smiles. It’s good to have friends.

*

_Neville,_ he writes back, _It’s too dangerous for everyone else for me to stay at Hogwarts. Old Voldie’s been attacking the wards regularly, but if he knows I’m not there, maybe he’ll get distracted and go elsewhere. Tell Ginny for me that she’ll be a great Seeker, and tell the firsties that I’m not a legend any more than you are. I’m going to be gone until Voldie is dead, so it might be a while, I’m afraid. Hold the fort: I know Gryffindor is in safe hands with you._

He sends the note with Fawkes, asking the phoenix to be sure to give it to Neville in private. The answer comes back the same way.

_Mate, you have a phoenix! What has been happening to you this summer? No, don’t tell me, I suspect I don’t want to know. If you’re going to be elsewhere (and I’m not asking where!) do you mind if I restart the DA? We might need the practice, if old What’s-His-Face decides to attack._

_Yes,_ Harry writes. _Just one thing – if you get any Slytherin volunteers, let them in. I’ve had some very strange encounters this summer, but one thing I have learned is that not all Slytherins are on Voldie’s side. And the more people who know how to cast Patroni the better. Dementors are bad news to everyone. I know you’ll be a good head of the DA, and you can tell everyone I said so if you like. Good luck, stay safe, and keep on McGonagall’s good side – and call for Fawkes if you need me, mate, because I will come._

He and Neville write to each other regularly from then on, and Neville’s stories about the small goings-on at Hogwarts are a beacon of normalcy in the insanity which has become Harry’s life. Harry treasures them immensely.


	20. Chapter 20

“It’s rather a lot to take in,” Remus says while Harry rests between exercises. “Even leaving out the bits I’m not allowed to know, there’s still the vassals, and Fawkes, and the fact that you’ve apparently advanced the war against You-Know-Who further than even Dumbledore ever managed.”

Harry grins a little weakly. “Yeah, imagine _living_ it,” he says. “I’m still kind of baffled that I’ve got Snape and two Malfoys hanging around and being _helpful_.”

“About the Malfoys,” Remus says. “They’re Blacks, too. I was thinking…”

“Yes?”

“You know that I’m…er…in a relationship of sorts with Tonks,” Remus says nervously.

“I wanted to ask about that, actually,” Harry says. “I kind of thought you were in love with Sirius.”

Remus sighs. “I was,” he says, “when we were young. But I spent fifteen years thinking he’d betrayed our best friends, and _he_ spent fifteen years in Azkaban, which does not do nice things for your head, and so when he got out…we were friends, and nothing more.” He spreads his hands. “I mourn him still. But Tonks is…she reminds me a great deal of Sirius when he was young. She has that fire, that wildness to her. But she is kinder than he ever was – yes, even to his friends, he had a biting sense of humor – and she laughs so, Harry, like…like bells. And she is so brave, and when she fights it’s like she’s dancing, and she isn’t clumsy at all.”

Harry laughs. “You’re very much in love, aren’t you?” he says. “I’m glad. I hope you will be very happy together. But I interrupted you – what did you want to ask?”

“I was wondering if you’d allow Tonks to visit,” Remus explains. “I think it might do the Malfoys good to see some of their Black relatives, and Tonks would probably be a good…a good antidote to the Malfoy-ness they think they have to put on all the time.”

“Huh,” Harry says, and thinks about it. “They’re my vassals,” he points out, “and I have to look after them. She’d need to swear not to say anything about them, and that might conflict with her being an Auror.”

“She’s a member of the Order,” Remus says. “She knows about keeping secrets, even from the Ministry and the Auror Corps.”

Harry nods. “Then if she’ll swear to keep the secret, she can visit. She probably _would_ be good for Malfoy. And she’s Mrs. Malfoy’s niece, isn’t she? Maybe they’ll get along.”

*

Tonks announces her arrival by tripping over the rug in the hall and waking Mrs. Black’s portrait, which Malfoy has still not figured out how to remove. Harry, in the sitting room, puts a hand over his face in dismay. Ron chortles.

Remus leads Tonks in, shaking his head as she bumps her shoulder against the doorway, and Tonks beams at the assembled household. “Harry!” she says, and pulls him up into a hug. “You’re looking a sight better than the last time I saw you. Wotcher!”

“Wotcher, Tonks,” Harry says, grinning. “Mind the floor, it’s flat.”

“Hey!” Tonks says, swatting at him. “Wotcher, Ron, Hermione.”

Ron and Hermione grin at her. “Good to see you,” Ron says. “Upright and everything!”

“Horrible people, all of you, I don’t know why Remus puts up with you,” Tonks says haughtily, and turns to the three Slytherins in the room.

“Professor,” she says first, and to Harry’s surprise Snape nods politely to her.

“Miss Tonks,” he says. “I hope you are well.”

“Oh, no damage,” she says cheerfully. “Glad to see you’re not actually evil.”

Harry puts his head in his hands for a moment. Tact, he thinks. Tact is something that I should really start valuing more highly.

“Auntie,” Tonks says quietly. “Cousin.”

“Nymphadora,” Narcissa says. “It is good to meet you at last.”

Tonks winces. “I go by Tonks,” she says. “Please.”

Narcissa considers. “Dora?” she asks. “Would that be acceptable?”

Tonks thinks about it a minute, then shrugs. “Sure. Dora’s fine.”

“Dora, then,” Narcissa says, and comes forward with her hands out. “I have…I have been no sort of aunt to you. But I am glad to see you well, and grown into a woman.”

Tonks takes her aunt’s hands and smiles. “It’s good to meet you, Auntie,” she says. “Mum has told me all sorts of stories about you. Did you _really_ steal Cousin Sirius’ birthday cake when he was nine?”

Narcissa laughs. “Oh, Merlin, Andie still remembers that? I had help, you know – Andie distracted everyone. And she ate half of it, too. We were both sick to our stomachs.”

“Somehow she left that bit out,” Tonks says. “I am going to remind her of that the next time she teases _me_ about eating too much cake.”

“Do,” Narcissa says, and then, a little hesitantly, “and…tell her I would be pleased to write to her, if she would be amenable to that.”

“I’ll ask, but I suspect she’ll agree,” Tonks says, and turns to Malfoy. “Cousin Draco.”

“Cousin Dora,” he says warily.

She grins at him. “Now if only you’d been Sorted into Ravenclaw, we’d have the set,” she says. “A Black in every House!”

Malfoy blinks at her for a moment in confusion, then smiles a bit tentatively. “I suppose so,” he admits. “Though really I don’t know who’d be collecting Blacks.”

“Harry, clearly,” Tonks says. “It’s good to meet you at last, cousin.”

“And you,” Malfoy admits. “I’ve…I’ve rather wondered about you.”

“Wonder no more!” Tonks cries, and slings an arm around his shoulders. “Come on, find me tea and I’ll tell you everything you never wanted to know.”

“Thanks?” says Malfoy nervously, and lets her lead him out of the room.


	21. Chapter 21

“I’ve been reading up on fealty oaths,” Remus says to Harry. They are weeding the garden together – Neville had been appalled that Harry had no Herbology teacher ‘wherever you’re staying, don’t tell me’ and had insisted that Harry do _something_ relating to plants.

“Hermione got to you, did she?” Harry asks. “I think she’s found every book on them ever written. She gives me summaries.”

“She has been a great help,” Remus agrees. “Some of it was…very interesting.”

“Oh?” Harry says absently, pulling a particularly stubborn weed out by the roots. “Got you, you bastard!” he tells it.

“Werewolves will not harm their Lords,” Remus says, and Harry rocks back on his heels and stares at the older man.

“Fuck my _life_ ,” he breathes. “Why does everyone want to swear to me?”

Remus gives him a wry grin. “Well, the other half of it is that, as the vassal to the head of the Black family, I’d be a suitable match for Tonks. Her mother’s a bit dubious about a werewolf old enough to be Tonks’ father and with money only because Sirius took pity on me.”

Harry pulls off his gloves and scrubs a hand over his face. “And I can’t, like, officially adopt you into the family or go talk to Andromeda or even just say that Tonks is an adult and can marry whoever the hell she wants?”

Remus sighs. “Sirius brought them back into the family in his will,” he says. “That means you, as the head of household, have to officially allow any marriages. Old families – they do things differently. And by the old rules, an aging werewolf is _not_ a suitable suitor. But a loyal vassal _is_.”

“Fuck my life,” Harry repeats. “I am going to finish the weeding and then I am going to go yell at Mrs. Black until I feel better. And then I will probably take your oath.”

“Thank you,” Remus says, and they finish the weeding in silence.

*

“…sibling-fucking feudalistic anachronistic inbred _assholes_!” Harry finishes, and Mrs. Black’s painted face stares back at him in blank astonishment.

“Hmph,” says Harry, and pulls the curtain back across the painting. “I feel better.”

“I am astonished at the breadth of your vocabulary, Mr. Potter,” says Snape, behind him.

“Hermione has me learning three new words a day,” Harry sighs, and turns around to see Snape watching him with something like humor in his expression. “I’ve found it’s easiest to just do as she says most of the time.” 

Snape nods. “Indeed. Might I ask what caused your…current bout of vocabulary practice?”

Harry huffs a laugh. “Oh, just…why the hell does _everyone_ want to swear fealty to me? I swear, I’m half expecting the entire staff of Hogwarts to turn up next, or the Aurory, or the whole damn Weasley family!”

Snape raises an eyebrow. “Are you really so baffled that there are those who wish to enter your service?”

Harry leads the way down the hall to the kitchen, running a hand through his hair, not that that ever actually helps tidy it. “Well, yes. I wouldn’t think people would be _that_ eager to give up their independence. I wouldn’t be.”

Snape gets the tea set out while Harry puts the kettle on. “That is why you are a Lord, and we are not,” he says at last. “You cannot bear to bow your head to anyone. That is part of why you infuriated me so, as my student. Always you desired control.”

Harry looks sheepish. “I didn’t get a lot of it, with the Dursleys,” he says. “I don’t like…I don’t like _not_ knowing what I’m doing, or doing something just because someone else says I should.” He pours the tea. Snape hands him the sugar.

“Indeed. That is how you are, and it cannot be changed, not without breaking you entirely,” Snape says. “But for others…it is pleasant, sometimes, to know that there is someone giving commands. Someone who will make plans, who will lead, so that one need do nothing but follow. It is not wise to follow blindly – I learned that, though not soon enough – but there is no great dishonor in desiring to follow. Leaders must have followers, and followers leaders.”

“Huh,” Harry says, staring into his teacup. “I don’t understand that. But I guess I can accept it.”

Snape nods. “If you could understand, you would not be the leader you are. And – my Lord – you are the sort of Lord it is…it is good to follow. I have served two other Lords, and neither of them ever cared so much for their vassals as you have.”

Harry grimaces. “You…you’re all _trusting_ me. I can’t just _not_ do what you need.”

“You could. It is your right, as Lord, to choose what to do, and what not to do.”

Harry looks up and meets Snape’s eyes. “It may be my right to choose. But it is my _responsibility_ to take care of you, all of you. If I must be a Lord, I will do it _right_.”

Snape bows his head a little. “And thus you prove to have more wisdom – and more compassion – than men many times your age.”

Harry sighs. “You can go back to insulting me now,” he says wearily. “I’ll stop moping.”

“Your Occlumency is still perfectly dismal,” Snape says promptly. “Finish your tea, and we shall see if I can hammer the basic concepts into your thick head. _Again_.”

Harry drops his head to the table and laughs.


	22. Chapter 22

“It is right that those who offer us unbroken fidelity should be protected by our aid,” he says, and feels the magic warm against his skin. “Be it known to all persons, present or future, that we have received our beloved Remus John Lupin as our liege man, and will hold him against every creature, living or dead, and will return to him the loyalty he has promised, and keep him as he deserves.”

“Thank you,” Remus says, and takes his hand from the hilt of Harry’s wand.

“Go get your lady, Remus,” Harry says, and grins when Remus blushes crimson. “Tell her you’re respectable now.”

“You’re _dreadful_ ,” Remus says. “I’m appalled at you.” But he is grinning, and his steps are light as he goes to tell Tonks that there is no longer any barrier to their wedding.

Ron says, “Mate, are you alright?”

Harry puts his head back against the chair, wand loose in his hand, and says, “I’m just tired. It’s been a long summer.”

Narcissa makes a soft sound of sudden understanding. “And we have all asked a great deal of _you_ , my Lord, and yet not asked what you desire.”

Harry blinks. “I want Voldemort dead,” he says. “Isn’t that enough?”

“No,” Narcissa says. “You are young. You should want other things.”

Harry chuckles. “I have never been young, Mrs. Malfoy,” he says, and pushes himself out of the chair to stand. “And I do not have the luxury of wanting other things.”

Fawkes, perched on the chair back, chirps admonishingly. Harry shakes his head at the phoenix. “No – you know perfectly well that it was your previous wizard who made sure I never did have a childhood to speak of,” he tells the bird. “You don’t get to scold me for having learned the lessons _he_ taught me. I am going to go finish my homework for McGonagall. I will see you all at dinner.”

He hears them start to talk as the door closes behind him, but he cannot quite bring himself to stay and listen.

*

To his surprise, it is Malfoy who comes and knocks on his door first. He was expecting Hermione, frankly.

Malfoy looks nervous when Harry opens the door, but he doesn’t run away. “Mum sent me to ask what your favorite food is,” he says.

Harry blinks. “My…favorite food?”

Malfoy nods. Harry considers. “I’m not sure,” he says at last. “Anything not burnt, I suppose. I like cake,” he adds thoughtfully. “But that’s a different problem.”

“Hmph,” says Malfoy. “Make my life easier, why don’t you. Well, cake, that’s somewhere to start.” And he heads off downstairs again, leaving Harry staring after him in bewilderment.

*

Hermione shows up next. She sits next to him on his bed and works on her Transfiguration homework in silence, leaning her shoulder against his, and when he accidentally turns his hairbrush into a hedgehog – he was trying to make it wooden instead of plastic – she catches the little creature and brings it out to the garden, and comes back with a block of wood that he manages to turn into a perfect hairbrush.

“Your control is getting better,” she says before she leaves, and doesn’t nag him about anything at all.

*

Ron comes and drags him out about an hour before dinner, brings him out to the garden and hands him a broom and they just _fly_ , swooping and whirling around each other, chasing each other and dodging and diving. Harry hasn’t done this in far too long, and he finds himself whooping with glee, laughing and teasing his best friend as they dart around each other, dancing on the air just out of Ron’s long reach.

They come down for dinner windswept and laughing, arms around each other’s shoulders, and Harry grins brightly at Hermione, who called them in, and she laughs at him and reaches up to tousle his hair even further. “It’s good to see you happy, mate,” Ron says in his ear. “ _Tell_ me if you need some time away from…everything.”

“Next time I will,” Harry promises.

*

Dinner is an enormous roast of pork loin, with bread and potatoes and asparagus and rich gravy to pour over everything. Harry stares at the table in astonishment.

Narcissa smiles at him. “Sit, my Lord,” she says. “Will you carve?”

Harry blinks at her. “I…admit I don’t know how,” he says. “Snape, do you?”

“I do,” Snape says, and carves the roast with elegant motions. Harry eats rather more than perhaps he should, but it is all delicious, and he tells Narcissa so, and Kreacher when he comes to clear the plates.

“Kreacher is glad Master Harry is pleased,” the old elf allows, and bustles off again.

Harry looks at his household, all of whom are beaming at him. “Alright, I’ll bite,” he says. “What’s the occasion for all this?”

Narcissa sighs. “The occasion is that we all realized we’ve been demanding everything of you, my Lord, and giving very little back. Which is terribly improper. It is the duty of a vassal to keep her Lord _happy_ , and we have failed at it.”

“What – no!” Harry protests. “I don’t expect you to, to _wait_ on me, or anything like that!”

“You misunderstand me,” Narcissa says. “It is my duty to run your household – the duty you gave me – and to run it to _your_ liking. I have allowed myself to be distracted from that. My mother would be very disappointed in me, my Lord.”

Harry sighs. “I don’t…you know I don’t really know how this is supposed to work,” he says. “But you seem to have been doing a fine job. I don’t need special dinners and…and whatever else you’ve planned.”

“Perhaps you do not need them,” Narcissa says implacably, “but you _deserve_ them, my Lord, and it is my duty and my privilege and my pleasure to see to it that you are _comfortable_ in your own house, among your own vassals.”

“Er,” says Harry. “I…honestly don’t know how to react to that.”

Narcissa sighs. “Accept it, my Lord. Because I can think of few more dismal things than a Lord attempting to order his vassals _not_ to treat him as he deserves.”

“Then thank you,” Harry says. “I…will try to accept it. And thank you for this dinner, and for explaining. I know I’m not the Lord you would have chosen…”

Narcissa raises a hand to cut him off. “My Lord,” she says, clearly and angrily, “while I might not have chosen you, that was a failure on _my_ part, and none of yours. For I have been raised a Black, and I have lived as a Malfoy, and I have served a man who calls himself a Lord, and I tell you now, Harry Potter, Muggle-raised and ignorant as you are, that you are a better Lord on your _worst_ day than any of those who I once served have _ever_ been. Do not deride yourself in front of _me_ , my Lord, for you are a far truer Lord than I had ever _dreamed_ to serve.” She is breathing rather hard by the end of her rant, and glaring at Harry, who has gone quite red about the ears with embarrassment.

“And with that said,” Narcissa says, visibly working to calm herself, “there is cake.”

“I like cake,” Harry says meekly, and it is, indeed, very good cake.


	23. Chapter 23

Malfoy comes and finds him the next afternoon after his Occlumency lesson with Snape – Malfoy, not being acquainted with the true nature of the Horcruxes, does not need to learn to guard his mind – with a rather nervously excited expression. “Come and see,” he says. “I finally got Mrs. Black off the wall.”

“Did you!” Harry says. “Wonderful!”

Malfoy gives him half a grin. “I…replaced it with something. Mum helped. And, well, everyone helped, actually.”

“Now I’m dreadfully curious,” Harry admits.

Mrs. Black’s portrait is, indeed, gone. The whole hallway has been whitewashed – Harry wonders if there’s a spell for that – and where the portrait used to hang, there is a huge and beautiful crest painted on the wall: a clay pot in the center of flames, with a motto written beneath it in swirling script which reads _Per flammae emuniamus_.

“What does the Latin mean?” Harry asks quietly.

“Through the flames we grow stronger,” Malfoy replies. “This is the Potter family crest.”

“Oh!” says Harry, surprised and delighted. “I didn’t know there was one!”

“The Potters are an old family,” Malfoy says.

“Through the flames we grow stronger,” Harry murmurs. “It’s a _good_ motto.” Then his eye is caught by a set of little figures beneath the crest, seeming to support the frame: six tiny silver animals. An otter, a little dog, and a wolf on one side; a doe, a bear, and a small bird on the other. He leans in closer. “Malfoy, what are these?”

Malfoy shuffles his feet awkwardly. “Your vassals’ Patroni.”

“Hermione’s otter,” Harry says, smiling. “Ron’s Jack Russell. That must be Remus’ wolf.”

Malfoy nods. “My mother’s bear,” he says, “and Snape’s doe.”

“And your…?”

“Bowerbird,” says Malfoy sheepishly.

Harry nods and steps back to look at the whole image again. “Thanks,” he says quietly. “This is…this is really great.”

Malfoy goes a bit pink around the ears. “We missed your birthday – you were unconscious,” he says. “Consider this your present from me. And Mum.”

“Thanks,” Harry says again, and stands there admiring it for a while.

*

“I would not have guessed your Patronus was a doe,” he tells Snape as they tidy the practice room after a lesson in control. Harry is getting better at moderating the amount of power he puts into his spells, but he still slips up occasionally, and the lessons are very useful. “I would have guessed a raven, honestly.”

Snape gives him an unreadable look. “It is a memorial of sorts,” he says at last. “For a friend whose trust I failed.”

Harry blinks. “That’s…a little depressing,” he observes.

“Perhaps,” Snape allows. “Though these days I have cause to wonder that it chooses to remain…never mind. Be seated, Mr. Potter. We will be attempting a different style of Occlumency today.”

Harry sits and doesn’t pry where Snape so obviously doesn’t want him to, though he’s rather desperately curious what Snape stopped himself from saying.

“Clearing your mind is obviously beyond you,” Snape says. “Therefore, instead of attempting the impossible, today you will envision yourself doing something which both pleases you and requires a great deal of your concentration. Miss Granger, for instance, would doubtless imagine herself to be reading; Mr. Weasley might envision a chess game.”

“Flying,” Harry says, and thinks of his recent afternoon with Ron, dancing on the air.

“Sink into your image,” Snape instructs. “Make it your reality. Refuse to be distracted from it, or directed elsewhere.”

“Got it,” Harry says. Most of his mind is no longer in the practice room – he is soaring above a Quidditch pitch, turning and swooping through the air.

“ _Legilimens_ ,” Snape says.

Harry keeps flying. Snape is there with him, sitting astride a rather battered broom – Harry thinks it’s one of Hooch’s practice brooms, good only for nervous firsties – but Harry mostly ignores him. Snape looks around the pitch curiously for a few minutes. Then he swoops down and tries to land.

Harry doesn’t let him. This is _his_ Quidditch pitch, and it is for _flying_. On the ground are all the things Harry doesn’t want to think about, tucked down small under the bleachers and in the grass. But Harry is up _here_ , and Snape is up _here_ , and that is how it is going to stay. 

Snape tries a couple of different ways to reach the ground or the stands, and Harry drags him back out into the open sky each time. Finally Snape nods.

“Well done, Potter,” he says. “ _Finite_.”

Snape is gone. Harry looks around his Quidditch pitch again, memorizing it for future use, and then he closes his eyes and opens them again on the practice room, and Snape’s mildly impressed expression.

“It would appear that that form of Occlumency is one to which you are well suited,” he says. Harry grins.

“Yep,” he says. “That was _fun_.”

“I have created a monster,” Snape says dryly. “Do it again, so I know that was not a fluke.”

Harry grins, and nods, and does.


	24. Chapter 24

“And now the Patronus,” Remus says. Malfoy flushes and shuffles his feet, but he casts the spell, and a shining bird emerges and swoops around him, landing briefly on his shoulder before it fades. 

“Well done,” Remus congratulates Malfoy. “That was very good. Hermione?”

Hermione’s otter plays around her feet, joined moments later by Ron’s terrier, and they wrestle for a moment before fading in their turn.

“Marvelous, both of you,” Remus tells them. “And now Harry.”

Harry lets his magic flow freely for this spell: it can hardly do any damage, after all. “ _Expecto Patronum_ ,” he intones, and a silver stag leaps from the end of his wand to stand protectively in front of him.

It is not the same stag. The Patronus he is used to is a slender, young creature, strong but not brawny. This is a king stag, with antlers nearly as broad as the room, a chest deep as a bellows. It turns to look at Harry, bowing its great head for a moment, then _leaps_ towards him, vanishing just before it hits. Harry sits down hard in surprise.

“Mate, that’s not the same Patronus you used to have,” Ron says slowly.

“It’s a lot _bigger_ ,” Hermione agrees. “Wow.”

Malfoy is looking rather green. Remus just looks impressed. “That was quite a Patronus,” he says mildly.

“Indeed it was,” Snape agrees from the doorway. Harry didn’t hear him come in, but Snape moves so quietly that half the time Harry doesn’t notice him until he speaks anyway.

(Unless there aren’t any other of his Marked vassals near. Then he _feels_ Snape approach, deep down in the bond between them, like the heat of an approaching candle. It’s a very odd sensation, and subtle enough that the presence of any other of his vassals masks it entirely. But it does happen, and Harry’s not quite sure how he feels about it.)

“It wasn’t nearly that big _last_ time,” Harry says. “Maybe being a Lord changed it?”

“Definitely possible.” Remus agrees. “Important changes in one’s life can definitely affect one’s Patronus.” He blushes slightly. “Tonks’ used to be a jackrabbit, and now it’s a wolf, for instance.”

“Awww,” says Harry, grinning as Remus’ blush deepens. “How sweet.”

“Indeed,” Snape sneers, but there is something very odd in his tone. Harry assumes it’s disgust. Living in the same house has not made Snape any friendlier towards Remus, after all.

*

“Snape, I need your help,” Harry says, and Snape looks up from his book and raises an eyebrow.

“Come in, then. What brings you to my door, my Lord?” _Instead of summoning me_ , hangs unspoken between them, and Harry shrugs.

“Figured you’d be here,” he says, not really answering the question, and sits down across from Snape in a big squashy armchair. “I figured I should probably write a will.”

“You are not going to die,” Snape says instantly, angrily.

“There’s going to be a battle, and I am going to be in it. Even being as powerful as I am, I’m not immortal,” Harry replies calmly. “I don’t plan to die. I don’t _want_ to die. But there is a good chance I will anyway. And if I do, I don’t want to leave you all in the lurch.”

Snape scowls, but he nods. “Very well. You have a parchment? I have a book somewhere around here…” He stands and scans his shelves, plucking a thin volume out and putting it down between them. “The important thing for _you_ , Lord Potter, is deciding what to do with the Potter and Black family headships.”

Harry sighs. “The Potter one…if I die, I suppose it dies with me. There aren’t any more Potters. But the Black one – I want to make Tonks the head of the Black family if I die. Can I do that?”

“Miss Tonks?” Snape says in surprise. Then he nods slowly. “She is both powerful and well-connected. Hmmm. Yes. She would doubtless do well in the position. It is not quite usual, but I suspect you could leave the Black headship to her.”

“Then I will,” Harry says, scrawling that down on the parchment. “And of course I’ll be leaving money for all of my vassals. Though I think Malfoy’s going to inherit from his dad, when the goblins get around to recognizing that he’s _dead_ , so he doesn’t need as much – I’ll leave him something else, something to do with warding or wandmaking.”

“Draco would be pleased with such a gift,” Snape agrees.

“I’ll need to visit Gringotts, won’t I?” Harry muses. “Would you come with me?”

“As please you,” Snape says, but there is a smile hiding in the corners of his mouth, and Harry is oddly happy about that.

*

Griphook greets Harry with a typically suspicious expression – Harry thinks goblins always look a bit miffed – and it only gets worse when Harry asks to see his account manager, though Griphook does lead Harry through the halls without grumbling about it.

Harry’s account manager turns out to be named Ragnok, and he looks up angrily as the door to his office closes behind Harry. “Who do you have with you?” he demands.

“I’m sorry,” Harry says as Snape pulls off the Cloak, “but my companion isn’t safe in public.”

Ragnok eyes them both curiously as they sit down. “So I see,” he says, then, narrowing his eyes, “ _Lord_ Potter.”

Harry blinks in astonishment. “You can tell?”

“Goblins see more than wizards think we do,” Ragnok sneers. “Your Lordship shines from your aura – I should guess that you have several vassals.”

“Six,” Harry confirms. “And they’re why I’m here.” He explains his errand quickly. Ragnok listens with an odd expression.

“It has been quite a while since Gringotts saw a true Lord in its halls,” he comments when Harry is done. “I had rather thought that wizards had forgotten how to swear fealty oaths.”

Harry goes pink. “I did not learn to be a Lord at Hogwarts,” he says, “but through research and necessity.”

“Then research and necessity have done you a great deal of good,” Ragnok says. “We will keep your will on file, Lord Potter, and should you die, we will do our utmost to protect your vassals, as your will dictates. And do come back sometime when you have time to talk. We at Gringotts remember the true Lords, and perhaps we know something which would profit you to learn.”

Harry stands and bows to the goblin. “Thank you for all your help,” he says. “I _will_ come back, when I can – and if Gringotts should ever need my help in return, call on me and I will answer.”

Ragnok looks faintly surprised. “I will remember that, Lord Potter,” he says, and then, “If you will wait a moment, there is a book I think would profit you to read. I will rent it to you – a Galleon for a year’s use.”

Harry doesn’t need to hear Snape’s shocked hiss to know that whatever this book is, the price is cheap, and Ragnok is being remarkably accommodating for a goblin. “I accept with thanks,” he says, and when he leaves the bank, it is with the small volume tucked safely into his enchanted satchel.


	25. Chapter 25

“Harry, I am _dying_ of curiosity,” Hermione says over dinner that night. “What _is_ that book that Ragnok gave you?”

“It’s a history of the Lords from the point of view of the goblins,” Harry says. “It’s…very interesting.”

“I would like it when you’re done,” Hermione says, and Harry laughs.

“I had assumed as much,” he assures her. “You may have it in a while. But you have to share with anyone else who wants a go at it.”

“What perspective do the goblins have on the Lords?” Narcissa asks curiously.

“Well,” Harry says, “mostly they appear to have helped oversee the blood adoptions that the various Lords used to keep their lines strong.”

He is met with five blank looks – Remus is eating with the Tonkses tonight. Harry grins and shrugs. “Apparently, a lot of the old ‘pureblood’ lines, the ones that had hereditary Lords – well, sometimes there wasn’t a good candidate among the Lord’s actual relatives. So he or she would pick some young Muggleborn or halfblood, or the spouse of one of their kids, and do a blood adoption, and name their new kid their heir, and that kid would be powerful enough to be a Lord. Apparently there _is_ a minimum level of power required.”

Narcissa is whiter than normal. “Muggleborns?” she asks faintly.

Harry nods. “The book is very clear – gives their names, or at least their names _before_ they were adopted into pureblood families.” He gives her a sympathetic look. “The name you’re not asking me about is Cassiopeia, Lord Black, formerly Janet Davies. Though there are others.”

Narcissa sways a little. Malfoy, beside her, also looks like he’s been struck with a brick. “One of our ancestors was a _Muggleborn_?”

“Several of your ancestors were Muggleborn,” Harry says gently. “All of them were apparently quite competent Lords, and kept the Black family rich and powerful. Honestly, it’s only been since the Black family _stopped_ adopting Muggleborns that its magical and political power has gone downhill.”

“New blood,” says Hermione. “Like breeding anything – you have to introduce new blood, or the nasty double recessives start to crop up, and then you get serious health problems. Like royalty on the Continent – you know how the Spanish kings were all, well, not really very healthy people after a while?”

“Double recessives?” Snape asks curiously.

“I’ll explain later, Professor – it’s a bit complicated,” Hermione says. “But basically if your mom and your dad both have a tendency for something nasty, you’re really likely to get it.”

“I see,” Snape says. “I will be very interested in the more complicated explanation.”

“I think I need to…think about this,” Narcissa says, pushing away from the table. “You will excuse me?”

“Of course,” Harry says, and watches her leave. Malfoy pushes his peas around his plate with a fork for a few minutes.

“They were good Lords, the adopted ones?” he asks finally, not looking up from his plate.

“Apparently, by goblin standards, yes,” Harry confirms. He read the Black section of the little book first for just this reason.

Malfoy nods. “That’s…that’s good,” he says, and raises his head to look Harry in the eye. “That’s what _matters_. And I can be proud to be their blood.”

Harry smiles at Malfoy, proud and pleased, and Malfoy smiles back.

*

“What will you do after the war is over?” Snape asks Harry, almost idly, while they tidy the practice room.

Harry blinks down at the pillow in his hand – good for banishing practice – and thinks about it. “The Ministry is fucked up,” he says. “I’ll need to fix it.”

“So…overthrow the established government, then,” Snape drawls.

“No,” Harry says. “I’ll let Hermione rewrite it. But there’s a lot that’s been forgotten, and a lot that’s gone wrong. I can’t be the only person with the potential to be a Lord, and if there are more of us, more people who give a damn about the ones who need it…well. Assuming I survive."

“You will,” Snape says. “You will.” It sounds like a promise, or perhaps a threat.


	26. Chapter 26

Fawkes brings the word of the attack on Hogwarts. Neville summoned him – McGonagall has not contacted Harry. But Harry knows that Neville would not call Fawkes, much less send such an urgent message, for a false alarm.

“Can you carry six?” he asks the bird, and Fawkes trills an assent. “Right, then. Narcissa, please get every healing potion we have and collect bandages and things like that. Fawkes will come back and bring you to the infirmary once we’re on the battlefield. Everyone else – this is it. Let’s go kick some Dark Lord ass, shall we?”

“Language, my Lord,” Snape drawls.

Harry sighs. “Let’s go comprehensively defeat Tom Riddle, shall we?”

“Yes, my Lord!” his vassals chorus. Snape and Malfoy pull hoods up to conceal their faces, and Fawkes bears them all away in a burst of fire.

*

Neville is waiting for them in front of the school, with a surprising assortment of students behind him. Harry sees Ginny first: she is standing at Neville’s right hand, and Harry realizes with an odd guilty jolt that he has barely thought of her these last few months. She smiles when she sees him, but there is only friendliness in it, and Harry is even more guiltily relieved by that.

Luna is standing at Neville’s left hand, and behind him, clustered close as if to shelter in his shadow, are Zabini and Bulstrode and the Greengrass sisters. They look nervous, as though wondering if Harry is going to condemn them on sight for being Slytherins.

Harry holds out a hand to Neville, clasping wrists and beaming up at the taller boy. Neville has grown; he is near six feet now, at least.

“Good to see you, mate,” he says.

“Same,” Neville replies. “Defense Association, reporting for duty.”

“Let’s go deal with this, then,” Harry says. “Fawkes – go bring Narcissa to the infirmary, and then get Tonks and Shacklebolt and as many Aurors as they can convince to come.”

Fawkes trills and vanishes. The DA students part: McGonagall comes striding down the steps, the teachers at her back. “This is no fight for students,” she tells Harry when she reaches him.

“No. It is _everyone’s_ fight,” Harry replies evenly. “This is our battle too, Professor. It will be our lives, if we should lose.”

McGonagall sags momentarily, and Harry realizes that she is not young; but then she is straight-backed and proud again, looking out over her students with warm eyes. “You are all forbidden to die,” she tells them. “Come: Hogwarts stands together!”

“For Hogwarts!” the students cry, and Harry joins them as they charge towards the gate, and the sparks which mark the breaching of the wards.

Voldemort himself is here, as Harry guessed he would be, but like the coward he is, he stays back, letting his Death Eaters meet the defenders. Harry sees Nagini coiled near the treeline, and points to it. “Kill the snake!” he yells, and sees Neville nod.

Harry has time, in the fight which follows, to see that Bulstrode sticks to Neville’s back like glue, and if she is not the most accomplished dueller in the world, her skill at breaking arms suffices her well. Ginny and Luna fight back-to-back, almost dancing as they cast. Zabini and the Greengrasses each lead little squads of mixed Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs. Neville has done a good job with the DA. They are all skilled and quick, moving like ferrets, dodging as much as they deflect. Harry is distantly proud, as one might be of a brother’s accomplishments.

He is a little too busy to think about it much, though, because most of the Death Eaters appear to think that Harry Potter is the perfect target. Harry ducks and dodges and throws _Stupefy_ and _Incarcerus_ and the Jelly-Legs Jinx, all Light spells but effective, and he lets himself put some serious power behind them. When he hits a Death Eater, he or she goes down, and stays down.

There are Dementors behind the Death Eaters, rising to hover behind Voldemort, and Harry, seeing them, cries, “Patronus! Summon your Patronus!” Around him, the DA members hear and raise their own wands. “ _Expecto Patronum_ ” rings out from half a hundred throats.

Harry’s own king stag leads the charge of the Patroni, but alongside it Harry sees Snape’s doe, Hermione’s otter, Ron’s terrier, Malfoy’s bowerbird. And from Neville’s side of the battle comes a great lion, as large as Harry’s stag, with a bulldog pacing it, a horse and a hare and dozens of other animals Harry doesn’t have the time to classify. The Dementors reel back, and Harry turns his attention again to the Death Eaters and the ongoing battle.

He sees Neville closing in on the snake, and realizes suddenly that of course Neville can’t cast the Killing Curse – none of the DA can, he would guess. But then, as though the very thought summoned him, Fawkes appears, hovering above Neville. Neville looks up, confused, and Fawkes drops what he is carrying: the Sorting Hat. Neville catches it, looking quite baffled, and then, with a look of dawning awe, draws out of it the shining length of Gryffindor’s sword.

Yep, that ought to kill a snake, Harry thinks, and dives back into the battle. Out of the corner of his eye he sees Neville reach the snake, sees Bulstrode break the arm – and then the legs – of the last Death Eater in the way – sees Neville raise the sword and bring it down again in a shower of blood and a single terrible _thud_.

Voldemort screams in rage, whirls to aim at Neville, and stops halfway through his turn to stare at someone behind Harry. His face twists with a fury so absolute that Harry is actually a little astonished. What could distract Voldemort from the man who killed his last Horcrux? He glances behind himself, and sees that Snape’s hood has fallen back: Voldemort has seen Snape’s face.

Time seems to slow, then. Harry sees Voldemort raise his wand to point at Snape, hears Voldemort say, crisp and clear and cruel, “ _Avada Kedavra_.” And something in Harry cries, _Not Snape!_ Harry throws himself in front of Snape without another thought, and brings up his own wand, and with all the power that’s in him, yells, “ _Protego!_ ”

The shield which emerges from his wand glows blue, and is so thick that Harry can barely see through it. And when the Killing Curse hits it, the green light _ricochets_ , bouncing back faster than it came.

Harry drops the shield in time to see the Killing Curse hit an astonished Voldemort square in the chest. And when every Death Eater still standing drops to their knees and shrieks in pain, clutching their left arms, he knows that Voldemort is finally, irrevocably dead.


	27. Chapter 27

There are casualties among the side of the Light. Harry has not adequately prepared for that. But Parvati Patil is dead, and so is Zacharias Smith, and so are Pansy Parkinson and Ernie McMillan. Mundungus Fletcher is gone – Harry didn’t even realize the Order had shown _up_ – and most of the Aurors are wounded in some manner. A few lie still upon the ground, and Harry winces and looks away. But all things considered, Harry thinks they got off pretty lightly, really. It’s a terrible thought, but he knows it’s true.

He and Neville help lay the bodies out, gentle and careful with their fallen allies, and then Harry goes off to help Shacklebolt round up the assorted Death Eaters, most of whom are too shocked to have fled in the interim. Some of them are dead, of course: Harry sees the corpse of Fenrir Greyback, with Remus and Tonks leaning against each other beside it, looking triumphant and horrified in equal measure; the Lestrange brothers, with broken arms and broken necks; MacNair, stuck through with what looks like one of the polearms from the suits of armor up in the castle. There are others, too. Harry doesn’t really like looking at them, but they are, in some sense, his responsibility. This was his battle, or at least, he came to fight it.

He sees Shacklebolt turn toward Snape, and steps between the two men. “Not him,” he says to Shacklebolt, clear and calm. “He is mine, Marked and bound, and what he did, he did on Dumbledore’s orders. Leave him be.”

Shacklebolt stares at him in shock. “He’s a _Death Eater_ , Harry.”

“No, he is not,” Harry says. “He was a spy among them for many years, and now he is my vassal.”

Snape comes up beside Harry, rolling the cuff of his left sleeve up. Shacklebolt stares in blank astonishment at the golden lion on Snape’s arm. And then Harry’s other vassals are gathering around them, all save Narcissa, each with their left arm bare and the lion Mark shining in the sun. McGonagall joins them, one hand on Harry’s shoulder and the other on Snape’s.

“Severus has my full trust, and I know the circumstances behind his actions, which you do not,” she says to Shacklebolt. “You will not be arresting Severus Snape.”

Shacklebolt backs down, though he looks baffled and more than a little annoyed. Hermione says, “We’re going to need to do a press conference, Harry.”

“About the Lord stuff?” Harry asks. “Yeah, I’d figured.”

“About your victory,” Snape says. “And, I suppose, the ‘Lord stuff.’”

Neville and a largish handful of the DA have come over to witness the confrontation. Now Neville nods at the Marks on Harry’s vassals. “May I look?”

Ron holds out his arm, and Neville and his companions bend over it, examining it curiously. “It’s very pretty,” Ginny opines.

“It was made with love,” Luna agrees. “It will attract Humming Sniparders, which are good luck, you know.”

“Of course,” Ginny agrees.

Zabini looks Ron up and down. “You don’t look…hurt,” he says slowly.

Hermione comes up and tucks herself under Ron’s right arm, her own Mark shining between them. “Real Marks aren’t like the Dark Mark,” she says. “They’re…protective.”

“Huh,” Zabini says thoughtfully. “Protective. And anyone can…Mark someone? Or is Potter being special again?”

Harry laughs and joins the little group. “As far as I can tell, there are three requirements. The prospective Lord has to know the right words, has to be of above-average magical power, and has to _mean_ the oath. That’s all.”

Neville looks thoughtfully at Harry’s vassals. “I think I’m going to want to see your research, mate,” he says. “I may need it.”

“Of course,” Harry agrees.

McGonagall, behind him, clears her throat, and waits until all eyes are on her. “There will be no Marking of _anyone_ at Hogwarts,” she declares. “While you are here, you are all my students, and you are under _my_ protection. Is that clear?” Her voice is flinty, her eyes flashing.

Harry, Lord Potter, most magically powerful man in Great Britain, yells, “Yes, Professor!” as loudly as the rest of the students, and the shout rings from the Hogwarts towers.

*

“Harry,” Ginny says nervously, “I have to tell you something.”

They are a little ways from the crowd around Ron and Hermione, who are apparently telling stories about their semester being tutored at home. Harry nods to her. “Go on.”

“I, um. I’m kind of in a relationship,” she says, looking down and scuffing her feet. “It was…I was here, and you were so busy, and, well.”

“Who’s the lucky fellow?” Harry asks. He won’t say he’s pleased, precisely, but, well, he’s having slightly odd feelings himself at the moment, and wasn’t he just thinking that Ginny didn’t make his heart light up the same way as she did last spring?

“Neville,” Ginny says. Then, almost under her breath, “and Luna.”

“Neville _and_ Luna?” Harry says, startled. “Well. Um. They both have very good taste, then.”

Ginny laughs and goes pink. “Thanks, Harry,” she says. “I…we’re still friends?”

“You’ll always be my friend,” Harry promises. “And my sister, if you like.”

Ginny hugs him hard. Harry hugs back.

*

Neville sits beside him at dinner, which they eat in the Great Hall, Aurors and Order members and students alike. Ron and Hermione are the center of a little knot of curious Gryffindors; Remus and Snape and Mrs. Malfoy and Tonks are up at the teachers’ table; and Malfoy is swiftly regaining his position as the unofficial leader of Slytherin House, if Harry is reading the other table correctly. That leaves Harry and Neville a little space to talk.

“So how have your tame Slytherins been doing?” Neville asks quietly. “Not too annoyed at taking orders from a Gryffindor?”

“I don’t give them all that many orders,” Harry points out. “But they’ve been…good. We’ve been learning how to communicate with each other. They don’t really understand how our minds work. Why do you ask?”

“Thinking of getting a few of my own, after we graduate,” Neville admits. “Zabini and Bulstrode and the Greengrasses have all asked me if I’ll take their oaths.” He looks a little sheepish. “And Ginny and Luna, actually.”

“They have your back, that’s plain to see. I think it’s good, for us to have Slytherins around,” Harry says. “It shows we trust them. Maybe that’ll help prevent the Ministry from going full-on batshit and trying to lock Slytherins up just for being Slytherins, or whatever else they might come up with. You know they’re not going to be happy about today.”

“Cowards,” Neville replies. “I didn’t see the Minister fighting Death Eaters.”

“You’ve…changed a little, Nev,” Harry observes.

“I’ve started learning about responsibility,” Neville says quietly. “It’s not just me anymore. I might not have their oaths yet, but my Slytherins, my lovers – they’re _mine_ and I need to keep them safe.”

“Yeah,” Harry agrees. “I know _exactly_ what you mean.”

*

McGonagall gives Harry permission to return to Hogwarts after the winter break, and Harry takes his vassals and retreats to Grimmauld Place, to sleep in safety and try to come to terms with the fact that he has finally done what his life has been leading up to since before he was born. Voldemort is dead. Harry is, finally, free.

Snape stops him just before Harry goes into his bedroom. “Thank you,” he says quietly. “I appreciate not being dragged off to the Ministry cells.”

“You’re welcome,” Harry says. “And – no one’s taking you _anywhere_ unless they go through me. You’re _mine_ , and I will not forget it.”

Snape’s eyes heat, and Harry cannot quite parse the expression on the older man’s face. “I have never before wanted to hear such a claim,” Snape says at last, and raises one long-fingered hand to the side of Harry’s face. “Yet now I understand why my Patronus has not changed.”

Harry blinks up at him. “I…what?” he asks in confusion.

Snape bends and presses his lips gently to Harry’s, and then, without another word, whirls and strides down the hall to his own rooms, the door closing behind him with a very quiet _click_. Harry stares down the hall for long minutes, then stumbles into his own room and falls back onto the bed, blinking up at the ceiling in bafflement.

“Well,” he says at last to Fawkes, who is sleeping on his perch beside the bed, “now that Voldemort is gone, I suppose I have _plenty_ of time for a sexuality crisis.” He touches his own lips, gently. “Huh,” he murmurs. “This…this is going to require some _serious_ thought.”

He falls asleep there, safe in his own house, surrounded by his loyal vassals, and if he dreams, he remembers only warmth and joy, and the knowledge that he has fulfilled his destiny at last. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is the end of Firebrand. Thank you all for reading! There will be a sequel eventually, but real life and some other projects are making that slow going.

**Author's Note:**

> Posts once a day unless otherwise noted.


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